Chuck vs the Fallout
by daydreamer2578
Summary: Chuck has just downloaded the new Intersect, putting his life, the lives of his family and friends and his fledgling relationship in danger all over again. Now he has to deal with the repercussions. Begins immediately after the season 2 finale.
1. Chuck vs The Concrete Wall

_Author's Note:_

_This is my very first attempt at a fanfic so please go easy on me! In fact, it's pretty much the first non-scientific thing I've written in six years or so, so if you see anything that looks like it should be followed by, "the samples were centrifuged at 2500xg for 30 minutes and the supernatant collected," please let me know. I can't even say how nice it is to write in the active voice again, but old habits do die hard._

_It looks like people start these things off with a disclaimer, so I'll say that I own nothing. In two years I'll own my car. The quotes from the show, song lyrics and the Dean Koontz quote in Chapter 3 are of course not mine, and the transmission fluid gag I expanded on from my friend DW's __Tarmac the Barbarian__ blog. Thanks for the laugh DW, just wish I could have seen it myself!_

_That being established, I'll just say that for my first time out of the gate I tried to stay as true to the characters and things that might possibly happen as possible. I may have stretched it a bit far here and there and let I the characters swear a little bit, but I feel like I stayed pretty close to reality -- or what passes for reality on the show. Chapter One takes place in the Intersect room, starting on the last line of the season finale. It's multiple POV, but mainly Chuck. Chapter Two focuses on Orion and his thoughts on the issues at hand with a little bit of Ellie, The Very Awesomes and General Beckman in the mix. Chapter Three is a loooooong Charah conversation on the beach from Sarah's POV. I tried to cover a range of emotions there. It kinda ran away from me and I'll probably end up having to hack it up, but I really think those two deserve a long, uninterrupted night together. Don't you? I'll finish out the night from Chuck's POV in Chapter 4 or 5 and then I'm going to try to get into John Casey's head -- Heaven help me._

_So, happy reading and let me know what you think!_

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CHAPTER 1

_Chuck vs. the Concrete Wall_

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"Guys," Chuck said in disbelief, "I know Kung Fu." Then he flashed; once on Casey and again on Sarah. Yep, the Intersect was definitely back, new and improved. And it seemed that he could look forward to a repeat performance of every flash he'd ever had. His head ached at the thought of it.

The three of them gaped in astonishment at Miles and the four unknown agents lying senseless on the floor of the Intersect room. A full minute passed with only the sound of their ragged breathing and the squeak of Chuck's All Stars as he paced among his victims, staring alternately at his own hands and the prone figures around him. Finally, a nervous laugh escaped his lips.

"And I didn't even deploy the Morgan," he said, looking at Sarah and Casey, twisting up one side of his mouth and raising an eyebrow in one of his trademark sardonic smiles.

Sarah's eyes widened as she stared at him with incredulity. During the long silence as Chuck surveyed his handiwork, she had inched backwards until she felt the assuring solidity of the concrete wall behind her. She didn't completely trust her trembling legs to support her at the moment and his fumbling attempt at humor proved to be the thing to loosen them completely. With a wordless syllable, she sank down to the floor, hiding her head between her knees and covering it with her still-bound hands. Her back heaved as she drew in her breath in jagged spasms, somewhere between tearless sobbing and relieved laughter. Even she couldn't tell which.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That wasn't funny. That wasn't funny at all," Chuck stammered, racing over to kneel down in front of her and cover her hands with his. "Are you okay?" he asked as he moved his hands over her hair and shaking shoulders. "I'm sorry. I'm so so so so sorry." With another wordless sound she pulled away from him, her face hidden behind her hair and hands.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay? Tell me you're okay. Talk to me, Sarah." All Sarah could manage to do was shake her head. She knew Chuck was looking at her with hurt and confusion in those liquid brown eyes and she couldn't bring herself to face him just now. Not yet.

Across the room, one of the unconscious agents began to groan and scrape his feet weakly on the floor. The sound pulled Casey's attention away from his inspection of the charred Intersect cube.

"Hey Chuck Norris!" he barked, "You think you could maybe use your new super skills and cut us loose? We need to tranq these guys and call in a containment team before they come around."

"Of course," Chuck breathed, snapping to and shaking his head. "Of course. Of course." Moving slowly so as not to alarm the uncharacteristically out-of-sorts agent curled in front of him, he reached towards the top of her boot where he knew she carried her throwing knives. "I'm just gonna . . . I need to kind of . . . your knife . . .Is it ok if I . . .?" he asked softly, trying to maneuver a hand around to the back of her leg, fumbling to find a knife she had not yet thrown. Sarah, her breathing starting to normalize but still unable to speak, raised her head. She left her face covered by her hands and hair however, continuing to cut herself off from him. She moved her leg out slightly so he could slide a knife out of its sheath. Holding the blade, he looked at her again questioningly, but as she made no move to offer up her hands, he sighed and moved over to Casey.

"Nice work Bartowski," he said with a smirk as Chuck cut through the strap binding his wrists. "Looks like you might finally be able to start pulling your own weight around here. You think that thing taught you how to tango too?"

"You know Casey?" Chuck said brandishing the knife threateningly, "I . . . you . . .I . . ." For once at a loss for words, Chuck let his knife hand drop to his side as the enormity of what had just happened began to wash over him.

Casey grunted and glanced over at Miles who was beginning to pull himself up into a sitting position, gazing blearily around him. He casually strolled across the room and kicked the traitor hard in the ribs.

"That's for Barber," he said, and then stomped on his solar plexus. "And Perez." He twisted the agent's arm with a grimace of satisfaction as he felt it snap in two places and Miles screamed breathlessly. "And Miller. And this," he said with his booted foot held high over the gasping man's face, "is for betraying me!"

"Casey!" Chuck yelled before the red-faced agent's size fourteen boot could come crashing down onto Miles' terrified face. "We need him alive!"

"Huh? Oh." Casey lowered his foot slowly. The disappointed look on his face slowly morphed into satisfaction though as he stared down at the battered man who was looking at Chuck with an expression approaching gratitude on his face. "That's okay," Casey crooned almost sweetly as he kneeled down to murmur directly into the agent's ear, "we'll have all the time in the world for you to tell me about your new affiliations. And I am going to take immense satisfaction in torturing every last detail out of you." With that he stood back up and kicked the now petrified agent smartly in the side of the head. Miles lapsed gratefully back into unconsciousness.

Chuck felt a little sick. "You could have just used a tranq dart."

"Where's the fun in that? Here," he said removing his tranquilizer gun from an ankle holster, "you knock them out while I check for weapons." As he turned, he aimed another brisk kick at the head of a bald agent who was just beginning to stir.

"Casey!" Chuck waved the tranq gun in Casey's face.

"What?" Casey asked. "It doesn't hurt to be thorough."

Chuck emptied the tranquilizer gun's clip into the groaning agents on the floor while Casey called for the containment team. He took a certain amount of pride at the contusions and hematomas beginning to blossom beneath their skin. As he moved around, the adrenaline surge that accompanied his surprise Kung Fu exhibition began to wear off and he started to feel – and move – like his normal self again. To be honest he felt wiped, and a little sore. His muscles had not been conditioned for that kind of action. He was also beginning to get a raging headache—the Intersect hangover that he had come to know all too well. At least he had managed not to pass out this time. Maybe he was improving.

As Casey finished his phone call and began to paw through the captured agents' clothing looking for weapons and identification, Chuck sat back on his heels and heaved an exhausted sigh. He glanced over in Sarah's direction and found with relief that she had regained her composure. As much as he knew that behind her toughened spy exterior lived a real woman with real emotions, seeing her withdrawn into herself like that, no matter how briefly, had disturbed him immensely. He didn't suppose he could blame her after the past few days, but it shook his confidence nonetheless. She was sitting upright against the wall, face dry, eyes focused on his. Her wrists rested on her knees as she idly played with her fingernails, her face a carefully blank mask. As Chuck continued to stare at her, she moved her arms, tightening the strap between them, and raised her eyebrows, questioning.

"Oh, oh. Of course, yeah." He fumbled her knife out of his waistband and scrambled to his feet, only to trip over them and fall sprawling over one of the agents on the floor.

"Hmmph," Casey snorted. "So much for that tango theory, Grace."

Chuck rolled his eyes, but for once didn't have the energy to come up with a pithy response. At least he hadn't managed to stab himself with the knife. His legs were seriously starting to cramp. He untangled himself, staggered over to Sarah and began to saw through the strap binding her wrists. Once her hands were freed, he took hold of them and helped her to her feet, not letting go once she was upright. Despite her calculated coolness, he could feel her still trembling slightly. They stood there, agonizingly close to one another, him holding her shaky hands, thumbs moving lightly over her chaffed wrists, her mouth moving wordlessly as they stared into each other's eyes, each very aware of Casey's continued presence in the room.

"Sarah, I –"

"Chuck, don't," she whispered, interrupting. She looked anxiously over at Casey who was still rifling through the bodies behind Chuck, studiously pretending to ignore them. She caught his gaze and raised her eyebrows slightly. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod and a wink. She closed her eyes briefly, then looked back up at Chuck through her lashes, unconsciously biting the corner of her lower lip. She shifted slightly onto the balls of her feet, took a deep tremulous breath, and then, meeting Chuck's questioning gaze directly, she placed her hands lightly on either side of his face. She pulled him gently down to her, and kissed him.

It was a soft kiss, and lingering. As Chuck began to relax into it following his initial surprise (he couldn't believe she was doing this in front of Casey), he opened his mouth against hers. The warm breath flowing over her lips was still tinted with the scent of champagne from the wedding reception. He breathed it in, savoring the heady fumes. She sunk her fingers deeper into his hair, pulling softly at his curls. As he moved his hands from her waist up to her face and stepped in closer (Casey be damned! Bryce said she wasn't going anywhere, and he certainly wasn't going to let her now. No matter who was watching.) She let go of his face and stepped back, leaving him awkwardly bent over, eyes closed and lips parted. And then . . . THWACK!!! She slapped him hard across the face, his head snapped sharply to the side, eyes flying open.

Casey snorted in amusement. "Way to go Walker," he muttered under his breath. "I'm glad one of us has the skill set to put that little shit in his place."

Chuck put a hand to his stinging cheek and looked down at Sarah, baffled. "Okay, okay, I deserve that. I can see how I could deserve that."

The hurt in his eyes, the dumb shocked look on his face and his self-effacing tone only served to infuriate her further and she reeled her hand back for another go at him. Only, this time he got his arm up in time and she winced slightly as her forearm collided with the hard plastic of Orion's computer sleeve, still strapped to his forearm.

"Chuck! What the hell were you thinking?" She had meant to yell, to scream it in his face loud enough to deafen him, but the words only came out in a choked whisper.

"I thought . . . I dunno, I thought . . .. " He was still completely tongue-tied in her presence.

"How could you do this to me? To us?" she accused softly. Wrenching her eyes away from his gaze she turned and strode out of the room.

As he turned to watch her go, the words she spoke into his ear not even an hour before came sighing back to him again: _How many times do you have to be a hero before you realize that you _are_ that guy?_

He thought back to their conversation in the Weinerlicious when she had asked him, _Some people want to be heroes and others have to be asked. So, Chuck, are you ready?_

To their conversation in the courtyard, the night after his first mission. _What's the good of being a hero if nobody knows about it?_

_You know. And so do I._

"I thought you wanted you wanted me to be a hero," he finished lamely as she disappeared around the corner.

"Way to go Casanova." Casey clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Did the Intersect teach you new lady skills too?"

Chuck took a breath and schooled his face into what he thought was a patient half smile but looked more like a grimace. "You know Casey, would it kill you to show a little emotional sensitivity just once? Would it?"

The smirk dropped off of his face and he met Chuck's eyes seriously, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Give her some time Bartowski. There's been a lot going on in that little blonde head of hers the past few days. You know she doesn't like to talk about the emotional stuff, and she needs some time to sort out her feelings. So do you."

Then, turning away and talking more to himself, "hell, so do I. My God, fucking Operation Moron part Deux. How the hell do I keep getting myself stuck here? I can't believe I actually jumped at the opportunity to go after Bryce Larkin. God damn Stanford pansy ass Glass Castle recruiting FULCRUM fucking sons of . . . "

Casey continued to grumble to himself as he walked out of the room.

_Sure thing Casey, I'll just call all of the criminals and rogue spies and let them know to hold on a sec because John Casey needs some time to sort out his Bartowski feelings,_ Chuck thought ironically. Then, out loud, "But why did she have to _fuck_ with me like that?" He almost yelled it in frustration.

"Because she _can_ moron!" Casey yelled back and then continued his grumbling. Apparently he was not quite out of earshot yet.

"She's staying here with me. She's had a shock and it made her angry, but she's staying right here with me," he mumbled to himself.

Chuck wanted to go say his good-byes to Bryce. He started to follow the muttering Casey down the hallway, but then stopped. Sarah would be with Bryce now, and as angry as he was at the moment, he couldn't intrude on her grief. Thinking about her quietly crying over Bryce's still-warm body, he realized something strange. For the first time in six years he did not feel the slightest shred of hatred, or even jealousy when he thought about his old nemesis, only a surprisingly warm sense of gratitude—and forgiveness. "Huh," he said to no one in particular, "I guess all it took to for me to forgive him was for him to lose the girl and die.

"Ha. Ha huh." Chuck began to laugh, a slightly depraved, rather desperate laugh born of exhaustion and the sense of hysteria he began to feel creeping in. As his legs started to tremble and cramp he staggered backwards until he felt the reassuring solidity of the concrete wall behind him. With a wordless syllable, his knees buckled and he sank down the wall until his head was between his knees, hands grabbing at his hair. His back heaved as he drew in his breath in jagged spasms, somewhere between tearless sobbing and manic laughter. Even he couldn't tell which.


	2. A Family Affair

CHAPTER TWO

_A Family Affair_

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It the darkness of Chuck's bedroom, Orion's face was lit by the glow of Chuck's computer screen. Soft light and the sounds of the continuing wedding reception filtered in through the window standing ajar behind him.

Once Chuck had walked into the secret Intersect location wearing his computer sleeve, Orion had been able to hack into the building's security system and he watched while his son pressed his palm to the computer terminal, activating the new Intersect. "Oh, Charles, no," he moaned as he watched his only boy standing dumbly in front of the frantically revolving cube, sickly light dancing over his skin, eyes rolling wildly. "I don't know what this one does. I can't protect you from it. I don't know how." He laid his head down on the on the desk.

"Protect him from what?" Ellie's voice floated in from the bedroom doorway.

"Ellie," Steve said, moving quickly to turn off the monitor, but it was too late, she had already seen.

"Is that Chuck?" She leaned over his shoulder to peer closer. "And John and Sarah?" Ellie's eyes widened and she gasped in disbelief, "Bryce Larkin!"

"Ellie, just sit down, I can explain."

"No. No no no. Bryce Larkin is dead."

"Well, it appears he is, yes."

"No, I mean he was already dead! Chuck went to his funeral almost two years ago. Holy shit! Dad, what's going on here? Who are those men? What are they doing with Chuck?"

On the monitor, Chuck was surrounded by four men leveling their guns at him while a fifth raised his to aim at Sarah's forehead. "Oh my God, Sarah," Ellie breathed.

Steve was frantically pounding at the keyboard pulling up power schematics, security grids, looking for a way to create a diversion; overload a transformer, set off an alarm, anything to give Walker and Casey a chance to make a move. "I don't suppose you'd believe that this is one of Chuck's video games?" he asked, fingers still flying over the keyboard.

"Dad, do something! They're going to kill them!"

Suddenly, Chuck's hands were a blur on the screen in front of them. Five guns flew and scattered across the room. Flipping through the air, Chuck hurdled out of the circle of attackers and landed five feet away, hands raised Bruce Lee style. Between the Intersect room and the Bartowski bedroom, ten people stared unbelieving at Chuck's hands, himself included.

Unnoticed by either Bartowski, General Beckman appeared in the upper-left corner of the monitor adding another gaping face to the crowd. They watched, eyes wide, jaws slack and eyes straining to keep up as Chuck systematically demolished five trained assassins and drove them unconscious to the ground. Ellie's breath left her in a strained wheeze as she sagged against her father for support, hand fluttering on her chest.

"That was . . . Awesome!"

Their heads snapped around as Devon walked up behind them, having entered silently through the Morgan door. "Five guys! Did you see that? Chuck just took out five guys by himself! Yeah! I knew you had it in you bro!" He punched his fist into the air a couple of times then smacked it into his other palm.

"Yeah!" he said again, squeezing Steve's shoulder and shaking it as he would one of his frat brothers'. Steve winced slightly as his head jostled on his neck.

"Devon!" Ellie whirled on him, manicured fingernails digging into the sleeve of his suit. "How could you say that? He could have died!" She sank down on the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands, shuddering as Devon moved to close and lock the bedroom door.

"I don't know if I can deal with this anymore. I knew he was involved with something, something to do with the government, but I figured he was still just a computer guy. I didn't know it was anything like . . . like . . . this." She waved her hand limply at the computer monitor which showed a dazed, yet intact Chuck wandering aimless through the mess of bodies he had left behind while Casey and Sarah stood frozen in disbelief.

"_You knew_?" three voices chorused in unison.

"Of _course_ I knew! I've known my brother his entire life and I _know_ when something is wrong with him. I knew that Chuck had somehow come to the attention of the government—I thought it was for his computer skills, that he got caught hacking or something—and I know that John and Sarah are here working with him. That much has been obvious since those two first showed up. And I know you're involved in this somehow too, Dad. Plus, I've pulled surveillance bugs out of my coffee beans in the morning, seen Chuck driving his Nerd Herder by remote control, heard him talking with some General in the middle of the night—it's nice to finally see your face by the way General—I've found computer schematics hidden in the pages of his comic books, heard him straight up lie to Morgan about his plans, shall I go on?"

"Please don't," said General Beckman, pushing a few buttons in order to transfer her image to Chuck's TV screen.

"Not to mention, my awesome husband here talks in his sleep, and he's had some pretty interesting things to say the past couple of nights."

Devon's face dimmed, then a beat later brightened. "The Herder has a remote control? Awesome!"

"He uses it in public?" the General moaned.

"Just don't tell Morgan," Steve advised, grinning. "Then we'd have a real situation on our hands."

"Can we focus here?" Ellie asked, putting her head back in her hands.

"Right, right." The elder Bartowski began cycling through the security monitors in the Intersect building searching for any remaining rogue agents. "The building appears to be clear, General. I've taken the liberty of dispatching a cleanup unit." His fingers continued to move over the keyboard, pulling up screen after screen of code and schematics. "I'm also setting up an automated search algorithm for the surrounding ten block radius, including any subterranean structures. I'll inform your team if it turns up anyone of interest."

"Thank you Mr. Bartowski." Steve nodded, relieved that the General had not called him Orion in front of his daughter and son-in-law. There were some things that they could still never know.

"I don't get it, babe," Devon said sitting down next to Ellie and taking her hands into his. "If you knew about Chuck, why didn't you say anything? Why all of that asking him what he wanted to do with his life, pushing him to leave the Buy More, wanting to be sure that Sarah's the right girl for him? You must have known it was out of his hands."

"I know he would have told me about it if he could. And because, government or no, he's my baby brother and I always want what's best for him. Always. No matter what. And if he's in the in the wrong job or with the wrong girl, it shouldn't matter _why_, even if it is just a . . . a . . ." she grasped for the word.

"A cover," Steve supplied.

"Right, a cover. But real or fake, I only want to see him happy. I know for a fact that Charles Irving Bartowski can do anything he sets his mind to. Nothing he really wants is out of his hands."

Devon ran his hand down the side of Ellie's face, looking deep into her eyes. "Well said. And that my _wife_, is why I love you." Despite the intensity of the situation, he couldn't help but take a moment to savor his newly-minted vows.

Ellie couldn't resist either. "And I love you too, my _husband_," she crooned leaning in to kiss him soundly, then drawing back again to admire the new diamond wedding band on her finger.

"Aces Ellie. You're aces," her father said leaning in to embrace them both. "You too Devon."

"Ahem." General Beckman cleared her throat loudly. "Bartowski-Woodcombs." The trio turned towards her, dirty looks on their faces. "As much as I hate to interrupt your family moment. It seems we do indeed have a family . . . situation that bears serious further discussion."

"With all due respect, General," Steve began, "This is my Eleanor's wedding day. Her _only _wedding day." He cast a challenging look at Devon who met it directly and nodded. "And we've all worked very, very hard to get here tonight. This business of ours has already ruined one reception for her. Please, let her enjoy this one. Nothing is going to be the same for them after this. Let them at least have tonight."

"Very well then. I seem to recall that the U.S. Government has also gone to a considerable bit of trouble to make sure that this wedding occurred."

Ellie raised her eyebrows questioningly at Devon, but he only shook his head. "Later, babe."

"You don't have any idea, do you?

"Not a clue. And something tells me I'd like to keep it that way."

"Go and enjoy your wedding night Drs. Woodcomb," Beckman interrupted again, "but we need to talk soon. _All _of us. We have taken the liberty of postponing your honeymoon plans one more day so that we may make use of tomorrow. We've upgraded your tickets of course, to compensate you for the trouble."

"Did you hear that? First class!" Awesome elbowed Ellie in the ribs playfully. "This spy life is looking pretty good after all." Ellie batted his arm away, keeping her attention on the screen in front of her.

Beckman continued on, unperturbed, "I'll be in Los Angeles by twelve-hundred tomorrow so we can discuss this new situation in person."

"Looking forward to it General," Ellie intoned. "There are many, _many_ things I wish to discuss with you as well."

The General raised an eyebrow and cast a knowing look at Steve. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I see."

"What can I say General? She's my girl!" He grinned over at his daughter who continued to stare intently at the General.

"Lord save us all from the Bartowski family." Beckman sighed heavily. "You'll stay here and continue to monitor your son's situation of course?"

"Of course, ma'am."

"Well goodnight then Bartowskies. And congratulations on your happy day."

The General signed out, the screen of the television reading: CONFERENCE TERMINATED GENERAL BECKMAN 22:22

Outside the window, the music came to a halt and the babble of voices died down as Morgan's voice boomed over the PA system. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, returning for their much-awaited encore performance, the musical stylings of JEFFSTER!"

Ellie turned and smacked Devon on the shoulder as the first chords of _Bette Davis Eyes_ began to sound from Jeff's synthesizer. "You didn't!"

"Well babe, given the tone of the day, how could I say no? Don't worry, Morgan promised to check their gear for pyrotechnics." He crooked his elbow and Ellie rolled her eyes and slipped her arm through it. "Come on. Let's go dance."

As they walked out of the bedroom, she turned back to her father, "you won't leave without saying good-bye this time will you?"

"Of course not Ells. I love you."

"Love you too Dad. Keep an eye on him, will ya'?" she asked, nodding towards the computer.

"I always do."

On the screen, Sarah had her hands tenderly placed on the sides of Chuck's face and was drawing him towards her for a long, slow kiss. Ellie sighed contentedly and snuggled closer into Devon's side as they walked out of the room.

"Aces Charles," Orion said to Chuck's grainy black-and-white image, "You're – Ouch!" Even though the security feed did not carry audio, Orion all but heard—and felt—that telescoping slap ring across his son's face. "Oh, son. You better learn quick that your kitten has claws." He chuckled as he watched Chuck fend off Sarah's second attempt. "Good boy." If Orion ever needed proof that she felt the same about him as he did for her, the hurt and desperate look on her face as she turned and walked away from him was more than enough. "Ah. . . what is a Bartowski boy to do with a CIA handler in love?"

_Her hair was Harlow gold,_

_Her lips a sweet surprise,_

_Her hands are never cold,_

_She's got Bette Davis Eyes . . ._

As JEFFSTER! completed their extended intro and Lester launched full into the first verse of their opening number, Orion leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning nostalgic as he let it wander over the bedroom. It landed first on the _Tron_ poster, knowing that Chuck had hung onto it these 15 years for the sole reason that it had been a gift from his father. Looking at the _Dune_ print hanging opposite he remembered bringing home the video on Beta (not his idea, by the way—that winner belonged squarely in the lap of Ted Roark) to a fifth grade Chuck'n'Morgan sleepover party and how the boys had thrilled to see the giant sandworm, Shai-Hulud rearing its head out of the sand. "Hey!" Morgan had said excitedly to Chuck, "I know _exactly_ what we should be for Halloween this year!"

That had been right before Madelyn had left them; their last Halloween as a real family. Ellie had dressed as Dorothy, Lyn as Glenda the Good Witch of the North. He had clumped along behind the capering sandworm, hot and miserable in a Fremen stillsuit. Orion sighed and fought to keep his nostalgia from turning into melancholy. The rest of the room belonged to a son he did not know. Posters from ComiCons he had not been able to take his boy to, books on computer programming – the one thing he should have been able to teach his son well, pictures of high-school and college friends; Ellie, Devon and Sarah, the girl he loved -- cover relationship or not. A relationship he knew he would not have the opportunity to watch blossom and grow, just as he had missed Ellie's first years with her Captain Awesome. This was the room of a son he did not know grown into a man he had come to enormously respect. And maybe, just maybe, he could save that man from his father's own fate.

He would rebuild it.

Whatever it took, he would rebuild it. He would give his son and his daughter and their sons and daughters the lives they deserved. The lives he had not been able to mend or protect, the life that no matter how far and how fast he ran, he had never been able to escape to: A life without the Intersect. He looked at his son on the computer screen, curled up and alone, shoulders shaking with unshed tears, and a single tear fell down his own cheek. He brushed it away impatiently. He could not bear the thought of his children and his grandchildren constantly living under a shadow of fear, always looking over their shoulder, never knowing who or what might be coming after them. With the Intersect's new data architecture, who knew what kind of human monster could be created? If his goofy, loveable son could take on and disable five trained assassins then only imagine what a ruthless killer could become.

His children would never be faced with the heart wrenching necessity of abandoning their own children to protect them, watching them grow into adults through security cameras and telescope lenses, this time knowing only too well what they were leaving them to. His children's children would grow up never knowing what it's like to lose a parent – much less both, to be uprooted at the very core of their worlds with only each other to cling to. They would grow up free.

He would rebuild it. He would remove it from his son's head and give him the normal life he had never been able to provide in the past. And then he would destroy it. He would destroy them all. Rat bastards.

In a corner over by the window, his eyes found a small, framed photo tucked back at the edge of a table. He walked over to pick it up; one frame from a photo booth strip taken at the Santa Monica pier. Chuck and Ellie were four and six, him in desperate need of a haircut, a curly brown halo sticking out from his head in all directions, her with her hair in neat braids. They sat with their arms wrapped around the others' shoulders, sticking their tongues out at each other. In the frame he had seen on Ellie's dresser, they were giving each other rabbit ears. In both snapshots he and Madelyn gazed into each other's eyes over the tops of the children's heads, smiling softly. Even then they knew all too well that this time was precious, that they should cherish every moment they had together as a family. He carried the third frame from the photo booth with him at all times. Lyn had the fourth—wherever she was.

No more.

He would rebuild it.

He had so much work in front of him.

_All the boys_

_Think she's a spy,_

_She's got Bette Davis eyes._

As Lester crooned the last verse, slightly off key, he gazed out at the sight of his daughter dancing, her eyes lost in those of her new husband. To the two of them right now, the rest of the world didn't exist.

And he intended to keep it that way.

His reverie was interrupted by Honey Woodcomb's even more off-key and slurred voice singing along with the tag end of the song as she and her husband Woody stumbled towards the window he was standing in. Her lips were pressed up tight against her husband's ear, her hands every bit as frolicsome as his as they groped each other like a pair of drunken teenagers.

"_She'll tease you_

_She'll unease you_

_Just to please you_

_She's got Bette Davis Eeeeyyyyyyeeessss."_

"You know?" Woody Woodcomb slurred as they stumbled over the ledge of the window and tumbled into the bedroom together, seemingly unaffected by or unaware of the fall the two of them had just taken, "that Indian lesbian sounds much better after a few glasses of champagne." He raised his head to gnaw at his wife's neck with abandon. Orion stepped quickly out of their way.

"Oooh Woody!" Honey shrieked, all concept of propriety gone.

"Mom! Dad! Stop!" Devon's voice came ringing in from the courtyard as he raced towards his intertwined parents. "It's not even eleven yet! This is _not_ awesome!"

"Darling, we have _got_ to get a lock for that window," Ellie admonished panting along behind him.

"Hmm," Orion said, looking down at the couple grappling at his feet, oblivious to his presence in the room. "Girl on top. Nice."


	3. The Girl with no Name

CHAPTER THREE

_The Girl with no Name_

The CIA Agent known as Sarah Walker sat listening to the never ending sound of surf crashing against the base of the rock formation to her left, idly trailing sand and rose petals through her fingers. Despite the chilling wind she had removed her boots and rolled her black jeans up to her knees. She set the boots to her side; her two guns, throwing knives, packet of tranquilizer darts, lock pick, iPhone and car keys tossed haphazardly inside. Lying back in the sand, she removed an annoying canister of peppermint flavored knockout spray from her hip pocket and threw it into the mix. She knew he was nearby. A quick glance at her phone before she had turned it off and chunked it in her boot with the rest of her litter had shown her that he was a few hundred yards down the beach at the public access. And with him now in ownership of Orion's computer sleeve he was certain to know where she was. She could wait. He would come when he was ready, probably after rehearsing a dozen different disarmingly charming and achingly sentimental, possibly even swooningly romantic responses to any sort of welcome she might choose to greet him with.

She didn't think about how she was going to greet him, or how she might choose to respond when he started to talk. She tried not to think at all. Like Casey's, her sensei had always instructed her to find the stillness within, to seek out her calm center. She didn't believe in calm centers though, or minds that could be completely stilled. She couldn't conceive of a place without thought – even in death. She believed that there had to be some part of each person that was always knowing, always thinking. She wondered what Bryce was thinking now. She could almost see his sunlit back as he walked across the sand and disappeared into the rocks. The last thing she head done was to tell him she wasn't leaving with him.

_No. Don't think about Bryce. Don't think at all. Feel._ She had grieved for him once already, dammit. Why couldn't once be enough? She set her gaze on the invisible horizon between the pitch sky and ebony sea and tuned her attention to the sound of the breakers until it became a constant thrumming in her ears. She focused on her body, on the feel of gritty silk from the sandy rose petals between her fingers, the goose bumps that involuntarily rose on her bare arms and neck as another gust of icy wind blew over her, the air chilled by the still-cool Pacific Ocean and an approaching spring storm front. She stopped herself from shivering, wanting to experience the cold in its entirety. She breathed it deep into her core, savoring the smell and taste of the salty air.

Though she had never been able to find a still center during her long years of martial arts training, she had learned to tightly focus her concentration while fighting, blocking out everything that was not being directly fed to her by one of her five senses. This gave her a sense of clarity, a hyper-acute awareness of her body and her surroundings. When she was fighting, she wasn't the con man's daughter, the confident seductress, the betrayed lover, or the girl who needed to do her laundry and clean her goldfish's bowl. She was purely herself, the girl with no name and no agenda other than to pummel the ass of whomever it was standing in front of her. She could focus her entire attention on the force in one leg, the twisting of her muscles as she swung it in a tightly controlled arc, the feeling of impact as it connected with her opponent. But she would not dwell, even for a second, on the fact that she really needed to shave that leg. She had often thought that if she could only fight forever, she just might begin to find some lasting relief from her inner turmoil, or at the very least, a reprieve from having to return to her normal, every-day self.

_I'm a normal guy, who wants a normal life. And as amazing as you are Sarah Walker, we both know that you will never be normal._

She sighed in annoyance and pushed the thought back down where it had come from. She had been replaying that conversation from the courtyard in her head over and over again ever since . . . well, ever since they had had it, really, but in particular since that morning in Barstow that seemed so long ago now. What was normal anyway? And by now they both knew all too well that Chuck Bartowski, Intersect or no, would never be normal either.

The beach at night, her second-best method for focusing her senses and clearing her head was obviously not going to be working for her tonight. Fighting had not been much of a release for her either lately, as a nagging persisting outside thought had permanently planted itself in the core of her consciousness during every fight. _Chuck_. She supposed it made sense, since nearly every fight she had been in for the past two years had been for the same reason. _Chuck's in danger_. She had even thought seriously about picking a fight with somebody who had never even heard the names Chuck Bartowski or Charles Carmichael – find some back-alley thug and deliver up a taste of his own medicine – just to see if that inner voice would quiet when she wasn't actually fighting _for_ _him_. But that would only succeed in turning a highly trained CIA operative into a common bully and she couldn't do that. Not even for a fleeting sense of freedom that she so badly needed right now. Maybe now that it looked like he could fight for himself that tight band she felt stretched across her chest any time he was in danger might ease its hold a bit.

Another chilly gust of wind blew in over the beach, scattering rose petals along its path into the dunes. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself wondering if she might have an extra sweater in the trunk of the car. She stopped her shivering again and tried one more time to fully _feel_ the cold.

---

She had left her jacket with Bryce. It was a silly thing to do, she knew, but she couldn't just leave him alone, his face uncovered and blue eyes staring while a containment team zipped him into a body bag and dropped him unceremoniously into an unmarked grave at a CIA dumpsite. Bryce Larkin had already had his funeral and had exited this world labeled as a traitor. Nobody would bring flowers to the real grave of this dead hero lying on the exam table in front of her. Nobody would even know where it was. It was only fitting that he should have something with him, a memento from someone who had loved him, once. She had stayed with him until the team arrived. She held his hand, feeling it slowly cool, and cried quietly, for once making no attempt to stop the tears rolling slowly down her face. The sobbing and hair tearing and hysterics she had already taken care of -- in front of Casey of all things. She silently cursed herself for not being able to hold herself together even long enough to make it to the ladies room, much less the privacy of her own hotel room. She had to admit, that boy had really done a number on her.

Bryce stared blankly at the ceiling. She had leaned forward to close his eyes, but then let her hand drop as memories washed over her.

"_We're going to have the most beautiful blue-eyed babies." Bryce had said to her, as they lay tangled in a dingy sheet, gazing at each other from across a sagging mattress._

_Claire Anderson had rolled her eyes and laughed. "What? And give up all of this?" She had asked teasingly, gesturing at the grimy hotel room, its open windows letting in the late afternoon sunshine along with the sound – and smells – of the Central American marketplace outside._

"_Well no, not now. Not just yet anyway. But someday we will. And they're really going to be beautiful, Claire. You know they will be."_

"_Hmmmm." Was all she said, smiling softly and snuggling deeper down into the old mattress, letting her eyes drift closed. She had never been one of those girls who fantasized about husbands or weddings or children. Everything in her life growing up had been so temporary and transient; she had never dared dream of anything lasting or permanent. Her choice of career as an adult had done nothing to change that. She tried to picture those blue-eyed babies and couldn't do it. Trying to imagine Bryce, who grew bored and restless on any assignment lasting longer than a few days, commuting every day to a white-collar job, driving a minivan full of kids or patiently coaching a little league team almost made her laugh out loud. There was no way he could be serious. She had only allowed the Andersons become a "real" couple a few days before, and here he was already talking about babies? There was no way. "How 'bout we just stay right here for a little while longer?" She had asked, reaching out towards him._

"_No can do Ma Claire." He said moving out of her grasp and jumping out of the bed. "Briefing in ten. And I'm pretty sure Graham would very much appreciate us being clothed for it." He grinned wickedly._

_Claire groaned and pulled the sheet over her head. Blue-eyed babies. Hmmph._

_But over the next couple of years, those blue-eyed babies had become more and more real to her. She never knew if Bryce had ever really taken the idea seriously, but he mentioned them over and over again. Whenever they were in a particularly tight spot, or before they left the shelter of a cover to face a throng of bad guys, guns at the ready, he would look at her and say, "We're gonna get out of here, Anderson. We've got to, for those blue-eyed babies of ours." She never was able to realistically picture Bryce changing diapers or attending ballet recitals, but more and more she began to see herself there. She had entered the CIA on her eighteenth birthday, giving her four more years of field experience than most other agents her age. The novelty and excitement had worn beyond thin and she was growing weary of putting her life on the line every day: hers, and those of her hypothetical blue-eyed babies. _

_In fact, the night he had disappeared, she had told Bryce she was thinking of walking away. He had been speechless. All he could do was stare at her, astonished._

"_You could come with me." She whispered._

_Just then Bryce's phone had buzzed in his pocket. Looking at the screen he said, "looks like I've got a solo mission. I've gotta go. We'll talk about this when I get back?" He gave her a quick kiss and took a moment to look deep into her eyes, searching, before he had turned and walked out the door of their DC apartment. That had been the last time she had seen him until that night on the docks when he had come gasping to consciousness in a life support chamber they had thought was a bomb. As he had opened his eyes and looked around in confusion, she had stared at those blue eyes of his in bewilderment until Casey grabbed her arm and led her out of the room before Bryce could see them. She had seen the babies in her mind one more time; to her surprise though, their eyes were not blue, but brown._

The sound of the containment team arriving on the floor brought her back from her memories. She quickly dried her tears, splashed her face with water from the exam room's sink and used a paper towel to remove the worst of her botched makeup. She twisted her tangled hair into a loose knot on the back of her head, tacking it into place with one of the steel skewers tipped with paralytic gel she kept in the linings of her boots. There. That was the best she could do under the circumstances. Moving back over to Bryce, she gently passed her hand down his forehead and closed his eyes. "Goodbye Mr. Anderson," she said barely audibly and leaned over to gently kiss his lips. As she stood up, she ran her hand down the side of his face and his neck, and noticed a chain clasped around his neck. She reached down into his shirt and drew out four silver rings: three of them she recognized – the Andersons' wedding set. She unhooked the chain, and shook the rings off into the palm of her hand. She slid the two-carat diamond solitaire and matching diamond-encrusted band onto her left ring finger, allowing herself one last moment as Claire Anderson.

It was as she was standing there by Bryce's body looking at the rings on her finger that Chuck backed softly into the room. Turning around to see her standing there he startled. "I'm sorry." He said, "I didn't mean to . . . I was just looking for a place to lay low for a minute. I don't think I can deal with . . . " he waved his hand out towards the hallway and the team working its way down it. "I'll just go."

"It's ok Chuck," she sighed, letting her left hand drop. "You need to say your goodbyes too." She twisted the rings back off of her finger and threaded them onto the chain. Bryce's wedding band however, she kept, sliding it onto her thumb. She supposed she needed a memento of him as well.

"Sarah, I –"

"My name's not Sarah." She replied woodenly, without thinking.

Chuck's brow furrowed in confusion. He tried again. "Jenny – "

"It's not Jenny either."

"It's not? But I thought . . . "

"I don't have a name." She said softly. Then she sighed heavily and shook her head. What was she thinking? "I'm sorry." She said, "Just forget it Chuck." She moved to fasten the chain around Bryce's neck.

"Wait." Chuck said digging into his pocket, pulling out a handful of change and a large gold ring with a burgundy stone. He picked out the ring and returned the change to his pocket. "It's my Stanford class ring." He said shyly, turning it around in his fingers. "I've been carrying it around with me since you gave me my diploma, but I still feel kinda silly wearing it."

"Oh Chuck you shouldn't." She started.

"Yeah. I should. After everything he's done for me, and with me hating him this whole time, he deserves something from me. I just wish that I could give him more, could have done more. And I want to let him know that I . . . that I forgive him." He raised his head and held out his hand towards her.

She passed over the silver chain and rings, letting her hand linger on his just a moment longer than was necessary. "Chuck, sometimes I think you're too good for this world."

"Yeah," he smiled one of his special Bartowski smiles at her, "I know."

"Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"I, I wasn't going to leave. I was going to stay here. With you."

He nodded his head, not looking at her. "I know. He told me."

Her heart had dropped into the pit of her stomach. _He knew?_ _And he did it anyways?_ She watched numbly as he strung his class ring onto the chain. "What's this?" He murmured, looking at the fourth ring. Suddenly, his body went rigid. His hand snapped open, dropping the rings onto Bryce's chest and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Chuck was having his longest flash ever. She snatched the ring in question off of Bryce's chest and held it up to examine it closer. It appeared to be two snakes, intricately woven around each other, each with the other's tail clasped in its mouth. She turned it to look at the inside of the band. There wasn't any sort of engraving, but it was speckled and dented in a myriad of places as if it had seen long wear; which was curious considering that the rest of the ring appeared new.

"Fuck!" Chuck whined, clapping a hand to the side of his head. He sagged downwards, grabbing onto the edge of the table for support. He took a moment to gather himself as he processed what he had seen, then turned to look at her, eyes wide. "We have to go find Casey." He ran towards the door, then stopped and turned back with his hand on the knob. "Good bye Bryce." He said. "I'm really going to miss you buddy." He opened the door and ran down the hall, calling for Casey.

"Yeah, me too." She said. She put the strange snake ring into her hip pocket and fastened the chain holding her old wedding set and Chuck's class ring around Bryce's neck. She took one long last look at the face of her first love, then pulled her jacket over his face and followed Chuck out into the hallway.

---

Far out over the ocean, lightning flashed. She picked up her head and listened for the thunder, but the storm front was still too far out for her to hear. The surf began to surge higher and the brisk breeze picked up its tempo. As the clouds streamed by overhead, a small fissure opened allowing a thin stream of light from a waning moon to illuminate the surf as it washed up onto the beach. She watched the rippling glow advance and retreat down the sand, then the clouds recovered the moon's face and all was dark again. She shivered and rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.

After a few minutes of watching the lightning play out on the waves, her sensitive ears picked up a soft splashing to her right. As the moon slipped out from behind the clouds again, she saw him. His suit pants were rolled up to his knees as he walked ankle-deep in the surf, moving somewhat gingerly. He was stripped down to his white T-shirt, which glowed like a beacon in the thin moonlight. She knew her tank top must be sending out a similar signal, but he gave no sign of having seen her. He too was looking out at the lightning, two fingers of his right hand hooked nonchalantly in the suit shirt slung over his shoulder, the fingers of his left hand tangled in the laces of his black Chuck Taylors.

She watched his slow approach, still unsure of what to say. He had always taken his cues from her and she had no idea what kind of message she wanted to send. Any road she looked down only ended in more pain for both of them.

_Don't think. Feel_.

She had learned at a very early age to suppress her emotions, stuffing them deep inside and never showing anybody how she was feeling. She had played the roles her father needed her to play, including the happy daughter. The CIA had taught her that emotions were important and needed to be addressed -- dealt with instead of bottled up. But they were also weaknesses, liabilities to be conquered with logic and reason. The theory being that if one could logically determine why they were feeling a particular emotion, they could also determine the reasons why they should not feel it, and by focusing on those reasons long enough one could render the emotion meaningless in the face of logic without causing any lasting psychological damage. It had worked for her. Though she still carried deep scars from her childhood, during her ten years in the CIA she had witnessed – and done – horrific things that only left the slightest of abrasions on her psyche; mainly feelings of repulsion at the depravities of which human beings were capable of and a sour tinge of guilt for her own part in them.

But here for the first time there was no logic, no reason to be found: _Nice guys don't get sent government secrets._ Agent Graham had told her the first day she met Chuck. Yet it had happened. The very idea that a computer could be uploaded into a human brain -- much less one that could physically program a body, causing it to move in ways it had never been trained to do -- was the stuff of science fiction. It deserved its own poster on Chuck' wall. Yet there he was walking down the beach towards her. Her decisions the past three days had been ruled by anything but logic. Casey and Beckman were right. The safest place for Chuck was underground. And she, the agent who was sworn to protect him, the woman who wanted nothing more than to keep him safe forever, had purposefully disobeyed direct orders; committed treason, only to take him straight into a deadly situation with no resources or backup. There was no logic there other than the fact that she couldn't live knowing that she had betrayed him, that she couldn't bear the thought of being without him. She had spent the last two years trying to logic and reason away these feelings. And she just couldn't do it. Not anymore. Not tonight. No more turning her head and looking away while he poured out his heart to her, his earnest brown eyes pleading. No more returning his expressions of love with stupid platitudes like _you're not so bad yourself, _or_ we're better as a team._

Chuck had stopped walking and stood directly below her at the water's edge. The crescent moon had retreated again and only his T-shirt was visible, tinted an almost imperceptible pink by the glow from the city behind them. With each flash of lightning, his silhouette stood sharply out against the water, the light seeming to emanate from within him. She felt more than saw him turn and begin to cross the last fifty yards separating them.

_But the more I think about it, the more I realize that you and I can never have a future together. I fooled myself into thinking that we could, but the truth is, we can't. Because even if we had a real relationship, it would never really be real. I'd still never know anything about you: your real name, your hometown, your first love. Anything. And I want more than that._

She heard the words as clearly as if he were speaking them again now. Since that night in the courtyard she had scoured her mind searching for one real memory, one real relationship; and had failed to find one. As much as she had loved Bryce, they had lived a relationship entirely based on lies -- the same thing with her father. As Chuck moved up to hover uncertainly beside her she realized that it was the memories themselves that were real, and the feelings that came with them. There was one real thing she could give him. Herself.

"Hey." She said, looking up.

"Hey."

"I'm glad you came tonight. I would have understood if you hadn't." She patted the sand beside her and he lowered himself down slowly, groaning slightly.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

"Like every muscle in my body has been pulled out, run over by a steamroller, wrung out to dry and then put back in the wrong place."

"I'd imagine. That was quite the show you put on, and your body's never done anything like that before. I remember how much it hurt when I was learning."

"Tell me about it. Some aspirin and a jog down the beach helped a little bit."

"A long soak in a whirlpool tub and a good massage would be the best thing. I guess you can use the facilities at my hotel until we can find your own for you."

"My own hot tub and massage therapist, huh? A boy could get used to that."

"You're going to have to start training too. If stunts like that are going to become a regular occurrence, you need to develop the conditioning to withstand it."

He sighed. "I was hoping I could manage to avoid that part of this life."

"Yeah. Me too."

The conversation dropped off. This wasn't what either one of them wanted to talk about. Another blast of wind combed over the beach and he moved closer to shield her with his body. "Here. You must be freezing. " He said as he draped his button-down shirt around her shoulders. It no longer held any of his body heat, but the fabric was thick and smelled of his cologne, underlain with the clean scent of his skin. She snuggled into it then reached out absently to brush an invisible speck off of his shoulder, tuck an errant curl behind his ear. He gently grasped her wrist and raised the inside of it to his lips, brown eyes meeting her blue, holding a thousand unasked questions. She closed her eyes and laid her palm alongside his cheek. After the long day his jaw was starting to get prickly. She enjoyed the feel of his scratchy skin under her hand. She ran her thumb briefly against his lips, and then, just as briefly, touched her own lips to his. They stayed like that for a long moment before she let her hand drop.

"Look – " they said in unison, then smiled.

As Chuck opened his mouth to speak she jumped in quickly before he could launch into one of his speeches. "Look, Chuck. Like I said, I'm really glad you're here right now. With me. But I don't want to talk about us tonight. Where we are, where we're going, what happened in Barstow or the Intersect room tonight, what this thing between us is and what it can and can't mean. I mean, I think we both know what happened tonight."

"You were furious with me for downloading the Intersect because you thought I was trying to manipulate you into staying here with me, even if it did mean having to keep our relationship fake. You didn't know Bryce had already told me that you weren't going with him. And there was no way you could have known about the RING."

"Exactly."

"His last thought was of you, you know. He asked me to take care of you."

"Thank you." She whispered. "That means a lot."

"And I will."

"I know you will. We'll take care of each other." _I just hope we can._

"And you hit me because –"

"Well because I _wanted_ to hit you, dipshit. But like you said, I was furious. But I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. Not just because your lips were the most convenient."

"And you did both in front of Casey to show him that you can still manipulate me emotionally to keep me under control."

"You've caught onto that, huh?"

"Please. But it's the game we have to play."

"So that's that then. We're on the same page. No games tonight though, Chuck. No secrets, no lies. Right this moment, I don't have an assignment, or a mission or even a cover. Beckman can decide to do just about anything to us tomorrow, given the circumstances it could be anything at all, and there's no way we can know what until then, so it won't do us any good to sit here and speculate about it and what it means for us. There'll be plenty of time for that later. But tonight – for the first time between us -- tonight is real. And I don't want to waste this little bit of time we have."

"I was hoping you would say something like that." He grinned. "Wait right here." He stood stiffly and jogged back into the dunes, returning with one of Castle's black duffel bags. "I suppose that a picnic basket would have been more romantic, but this was the best I could do on short notice."

"What? . . . How?" She noticed for the first time that he wasn't wearing Orion's computer. "How did you know I would be here before I did?"

"Despite what you may think about how well you keep yourself under cover all locked away, I know you better than you think. You looked so happy at the wedding today -- that must have been right after you told Bryce."

She nodded.

"I figured that you would take a long drive and then end up here to try and clear your head and try and recapture some of that happiness before . . . before . . ."

"Before tomorrow. Yeah." That had been exactly what she had done. Not that opening up the engine of her Porsche for a while on the PCH then sitting on the beach was an entirely unpredictable thing for anybody to do after a day like today, but his level of perception still spooked her a bit. She rose to her feet and helped him spread the blanket out over the rose petals, tacking down the edges with rocks to prevent it from flying away. As she reached into the duffel to pull out the second blanket, the smell of tomato sauce assailed her nostrils and she couldn't help but let a silly grin cross her face. "Is that?"

"Medium pizza, extra veggies -"

"No olives." They finished together. At the smell wafting out of the box her stomach started to growl. As hectic as the day had been, she hadn't had time to do more than nibble at a couple hors d'oeuvres during the reception. He really did think of everything. There were also sweatshirts for both of them, water bottles, a bottle of Captain Morgan and a sleeve of Dixie cups. "Captain Morgan?"

"It was Bryce's favorite. We used to play speed chess for shots back at Stanford."

"That's funny. We did too, whenever we had a slow mission."

"So we do have something in common. We've both played speed chess and drank Captain with Bryce Larkin. I wonder what else there is?"

"There's more than you think Chuck." Eschewing the sweatshirts, she wrapped them both in the second blanket and opened the pizza box at their feet. As she pulled out two slices, he opened the Captain Morgan, pouring each of them a generous shot. He handed her a cup and raised his own.

"To Bryce." He toasted.

"To Bryce." They drank and lapsed again into silence, eating their pizza slowly and looking out at the approaching storm.

"There is one thing we need to discuss." Chuck said around a mouthful of crust as he finished his slice.

"And what is that?" She asked, pouring them each another cup of rum.

"What am I supposed to call you? Tonight, you're not Sarah Walker, and I guess Jenny Burton wasn't real either . . . "

"No. She wasn't, thank God. I never really liked her anyway."

"So? You have to have a real name. How can somebody not have a name?"

"Chuck, by the time I graduated from high school, I had had twenty-six different names, had been twenty-six different people, and that was before I joined the CIA. I've lost track of how many I've used since then. I guess that I've been Sarah Walker longer than I've been anybody."

"That must have been so hard, not to have any sort of stability in your life."

"Yeah. It was." She sighed. She knew she should say more, she had promised herself that she wasn't going to hold back with him tonight, but talking about herself had never come easy and as much as she grasped, she just couldn't find any words to explain the pain of growing up never knowing who she was or what crazy situation her father was going to get them into next.

"But what about your first name? The one on your birth certificate I mean. There has to be a real name there. A name that your parents put thought into, one that means something."

"Sort of. My mother was one of my father's marks, the victim of a long con. He must have fallen for her though because when she got pregnant with me he settled down with her in St. Louis instead of skipping out. But then she was in a car wreck when she was only 28 weeks along. She fell asleep at the wheel and was hit by an eighteen-wheeler. They were able to deliver me prematurely but she died on the table in the operating room. My father named me for her. Caroline. Caroline Reynolds. Only Reynolds isn't real either. It was just the name he was using at the time. He had been on the grift for long enough by then that he couldn't use his real name anymore. I don't even know what it is. He would never talk about it, or her."

"Sarah, I'm so sorry. I mean . . .Caroline." He said taking up her hand and squeezing it hard.

She pulled back, shaking her head. "But I'm not Caroline either, Chuck. I grew up hating her. I hated that she was just one of those women I grew up around; the ones that couldn't see through my father's lies to who and what he really was. I hated that she hadn't left him when she found out she was pregnant and given me a normal life. I hated her for driving when she shouldn't have, and I hated her for dying, for dying and destroying any chance I would ever have at having a real family. She was the target for my anger about everything that was wrong in my life." She trailed off and looked at him, seeking understanding.

"I get that." He said. Of course he did. His mother had left him too. It wasn't quite the same thing, but losing a mother you knew probably hurt even more than losing one you didn't.

"And I was only Caroline for three months anyway. As soon as I was healthy enough to leave the hospital and my father had collected the insurance money, he changed our names and left town. We never stayed in the same place or kept the same names for more than a year at a time after that. I never used Caroline again; even when I got to be old enough that Dad started letting me pick out my own names. I've forgiven her now. I don't hate her anymore, but I can still never be Caroline again."

He put his arms around her, drawing her close. She nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder and listened to the sound of his breathing, drawing the scratchy warmth of the wool blanket tighter around them. From far out at sea she heard the faint first rumbles of thunder.

"So what should I call you? Who do you think of yourself as?"

"You need to call me Sarah, Chuck."

"But not tonight, remember? What do I call you tonight? Who are you really Sarah Walker?"

She paused for a long moment. "Lisa." She breathed finally. "Call me Lisa."

"Your middle name?"

"Lisa is always my middle name. My father never used middle names on our 'legal' documents. They lessen your anonymity, give people one more way to identify you. The CIA rarely uses them either -- Sarah Walker doesn't have a middle name. But every time he gave me an envelope with my new alias, he wrote the new name on the outside with Lisa as my middle name. Elizabeth Lisa Henderson, Jennifer Lisa Burton, Katie Lisa O'Connell . . ." The list of names stretched out in her mind.

"Who was she?"

"She was my father's baby sister. She died of Leukemia when she was seven and he was thirteen. They were in foster care and all they had was each other. He always said how he loved her more than anything in the world -- and that I have her eyes. It was the name he had picked out for me before my mother died."

"Lisa." He said, trying out the name.

"Lisa." She repeated. "Lisa . . . " She hesitated, wondering if she should. It was so sappy and cheesy and girlish. But she decided to say it anyways. The smile on his face would be worth it. "Carmichael."

It was worth it. The grin that split his face seemed to light up the entire beach. "Lisa Carmichael. I like the sound of that." He leaned in and kissed her.

He was tentative at first, questioning, still taking his cues from her. Rather than respond back to him immediately Lisa only parted her lips slightly, waiting for him to play the aggressor. It didn't take him long. A fierce torrent of wind crashed over them and he pulled her down onto her side, dragging the blanket over them. He used his chin to ease her mouth open and kissed her deeply, his tongue meeting hers and wrapping slowly around it. She sank her fingers into his windblown curls and hooked one leg over his lower back, sliding herself closer to him.

This was nothing like Barstow. That had been a release of two years worth of pent up tension, leading frantically towards a conclusion (_"get a condom," she had breathed in his ear after only a few moments_), an event that would not occur here this time. They were both too old and too concerned about their privacy to fuck on the beach like a couple of teenagers. Instead, they moved unhurriedly in the darkness under the blanket, their hands sliding slowly over one another, exploring, finding the hidden crevices and sensitive spots. He took her earlobe between his lips, biting softly, and the feel of his hot breath in her ear made her forget how to breathe for a moment. She slipped her hand inside his shirt and ran her fingernails lightly down his back: he groaned softly and arched backwards into her hand; she dug her nails in deeper. He grasped her by the thigh and pulled her even closer into him as she set her teeth lightly on his neck, savoring the strong pulse of his carotid artery under her lips. With each beat, his pulse reminded her that he was alive. He was here with her, and he was safe. For tonight. Tomorrow would -- _no_. She cut the thought off at its source.

_Don't think. Feel._

With the discipline of years of intense training, she turned her entire focus to her senses, finally attaining that solitary awareness of her body and surroundings she had so desperately sought. The sound of the surf, wind, thunder and their ragged breathing; the aroma of wind-dried sweat on his skin, musty blankets, his cologne, her perfume and spiced rum; the utter blackness under the blanket; the salty sweetness of his skin, a faint tang of breath mints still lingering under the taste of pizza and liquor; and every touch, every kiss, every faint movement of each of their bodies resounded through her entirety, a tight knot of energy in the base of her abdomen turning over languidly, dissolving into a lazy, spreading warmth. And, as always now, at the very center of everything, was a single thought. _Chuck_.

He groaned again, louder, as she moved her body along the length of his. A second thought intruded onto Lisa's consciousness. He was incredibly aroused. She sifted her hips to release the pressure on his pelvis and he broke away from her, throwing off the blanket and sucking in deep lungsful of the frigid night air. "I'm sorry . . . I can't . . . Not here." he wheezed between gasps.

Lisa raised herself onto her elbow and looked down at him gasping like a landed perch. "Are you ok Chuck?" She giggled at the sight of him. Shit. She had actually giggled. She hadn't done that since she had been a nine-year-old Amanda Sanderson in Denver, Colorado. Apparently Lisa Carmichael giggled too. At the thought of it she laughed a genuine full-throated laugh. Chuck gave her a look of bewilderment and the expression on his face made her laugh even harder. She rolled on her back holding her belly and laughing until she was struggling for breath as hard as he was. She laughed so hard she snorted, which of course made him start laughing too. They lay there side by side, the skin of their arms just barely touching, laughing until tears streamed down their faces.

"Oh God." She said finally, wiping the tears off of her face and sitting up. "I think I need another drink."

"I heartily second that motion."

It took a little bit of groping around in the dark, but they finally located the bottle of Captain Morgan, Dixie cups and one very squished pizza box. Her boots had been knocked over and she inwardly cursed at how long it was going to take her to clean the sand out of the firing mechanisms of her guns. She stowed the boots and their contents in the duffel bag to prevent any further incidents. As an afterthought, she removed the drug-laced skewer from her disarrayed hair. An accident with that had the potential to end badly.

After she had poured a full four fingers for each of them, he raised his cup for another toast.

"To us."

"To tonight." She responded.

"May tomorrow never come." They drank and she poured them each another stiff shot.

"So now you know Chuck." She said sipping the liquor slowly this time.

"Know what?" He was trying to separate another slice of pizza from the mangled box.

"Something real. My real name, my hometown . . . my first love."

"Bryce?"

"Mmm hmm." She nodded.

"That's actually surprising. I would think that a girl like . . . well, like you, would have found someone earlier in life."

"Well don't get me wrong. There were boys, men before Bryce. I _was_ a con man's daughter after all. As soon as I was old enough, Dad started training me in seduction skills – long before the CIA ever did. Jenny Burton was always gawky and socially inept, but you should have seen Natasha Novikov before her."

"That must have been . . . awkward."

"Oh no, it was nothing like that. He was always very professional about it. He taught me all about how the male psyche works, and how to manipulate it, and then he watched from a distance and gave pointers while I learned to flirt with guys. But what happened after I got them alone, in private, was up to me to learn on my own. Unlike the CIA . . . "

"Do they really make you . . . " He made a vague gesture.

"Yeah. They do." She quickly changed the subject. She shouldn't have mentioned it.

"But Bryce was the first man that I ever allowed myself to open up to at all, even a little bit. The first time I understood the meaning of 'love hurts.'"

"Yeah. Tell me about it." He muttered. "Is it strange to say that I feel like he's watching us right now?"

"No. Not at all." She had felt the prickling along her spine like someone was watching over her all night as well; but her well-trained senses hadn't been able to pick up on anybody physical.

"Do you think he'd approve? Of this, of us, I mean?"

She pursed her lips as she thought. "Professionally, no. He made it pretty clear that he felt our feelings for each other were a liability. And dangerous. We had a long talk about it before he left town last time. I felt like I was back at the academy again being lectured on the dangers of compromising oneself emotionally. But personally, I think yes, he would. He loved us both and I know he'd want to see us happy. You know, he used to talk about his old college roommate all the time. I could always tell that he loved you like a brother. He never told me about how it all ended, about the tests and Glass Castle and everything, but there was definitely guilt there too whenever he mentioned you."

"Really?" He smiled wanly. "I always pictured him walking away and never looking back."

"Chuck, I don't think anybody could _ever_ walk away from you and not look back."

"Yeah, well, you're a bit biased."

"No. I'm right." She leaned in and kissed him again, pulling back before it could deepen into anything more.

He lay back and put his hands underneath his head. "I remember, there was this one time back at Stanford. Bryce was all grades of pissed off because the Zeta Deltas had kicked our ass at our monthly rugby game. Again."

"Wait. You play rugby?"

"Oh, you doubt? I can bleed with the best of them baby."

"Yeah, and then pass out at the sight of it." She teased, poking him in the ribs.

"Well I never said I was a particularly _good_ rugby player . . ."

"You know, I used to play a little too. One semester in high school and then for R&R at the academy."

"Well then that's one more thing we have in common."

"Doesn't that warrant another shot?"

"Sounds good." He poured.

"Anyways," Chuck continued after he had finished his shot, " Bryce had his panties all in a twist over the riling Brian Nichols and his pack had given us after the game, and the Delts were planning a huge block party for the next weekend. And the Delts being the Delts of course had to put to shame any previous block party in history so, among other things, they had come up with this ceremonial lighting of the grill thing to kick it off. They had grills all up and down the block and they were planning to douse the hell out of the charcoal with lighter fluid and light them all at the same time with a big flash of fire and lights and music and whatever. So every night for a week, Bryce snuck over the fence into their yard and came back with two bags of charcoal."

"Oh no. I can so see where this is going."

"Oh just wait. So he took each bag of charcoal and soaked it in a 5 gallon bucket of used transmission fluid he had picked up from a garage."

Lisa groaned and laughed at the same time.

"Then he spread it out to dry overnight, put it back in the bag and snuck it back into their yard before sunrise. Then the day of the party while everybody is setting up, Bryce is sneaking around like crazy. I saw him messing around with the sound and light equipment and running in and out of houses. They had rented these huge stadium fans to cool down the street and he spent ages testing the wind and inching them into just the right direction. He made sure our house was sealed up tight as a drum and that every single window and door in the Zeta Delta house was stuck wide open somehow. He spread the word down the street that it might be a very good idea for people to keep their windows closed during the party. When the big moment came, all of those assholes absolutely soaked their grills in lighter fluid. Somebody had come up with the genius idea of starting up the grills with firecrackers instead of matches so you can only imagine the noise it made when they all threw their firecrackers at the same time."

"Oh my God." As if to punctuate his story, they heard a sharp crack of thunder, still far out past the breakers.

"It sure sounded like Him. And then the fans all turned on full blast, and there was this huge, billowing wall of noxious white smoke blowing straight towards the Zeta Delta house. Have you ever smelled transmission fluid burning?"

Lisa shook her head. She was quite familiar with the smell of many different incendiary devices, but transmission fluid soaked charcoal was certainly not one of them.

"I can't even begin to describe how putrid it is. And it's thick. It sticks to _everything_ it touches. And it can't be put out until it burns itself out. When the fire department got there, all they could do was close the grills and let them burn. It took the Delts months to clean out that house and they had to replace every last scrap of fabric in it. But since the smoke is so bright white, it also makes an excellent screen for a projector."

"Do I want to know?"

"Your buddy and mine, Bryce Larkin, had been busy doing some very creative work involving the Stanford yearbook, gay bondage porn and Photoshop. All set to the Barney theme song."

"He didn't!"

"Oh yes he did. And while the Delts and everybody else at the party were busy freaking out and running in twelve different directions at once, we were all happily tucked away into our house full of nice, clean air with their kegs, liquor, food, – and girls."

"Well I guess that's what you get for messing with Bryce Larkin."

"That's what you get for calling Bryce Larkin a tights-wearing, pansy-assed, pretty-boy motherfucking loser!"

She threw her head back and laughed with him. "I just hope he got what he deserved for it."

"Strangely, no. The cops were furious, but for some reason we never heard anything about it again." His eyes went wide with sudden understanding. "Oh. Huh. I guess that makes more sense now."

"Oh trust me, I'm sure he got what was coming to him and more. The CIA does _not_ look kindly at their trainees bringing attention to themselves by engineering escapades like that. I'm sure he would have much preferred a couple of nights in jail."

"Still, I think it was worth it."

"_So worth it." Bryce had told her the first time she heard the story._

"Ok." She said. "I've got one for you. Bryce and I were in Brazil chasing after these . . . " She stopped, at a loss. Classified was still classified, no matter how much she may want to tell him.

"These?" He prompted.

"These, um . . . Soviet intelligence agents."

"Soviet, huh? Did this mission perchance take place when you two were about six?"

"Work with me here, Chuck. I'm trying."

"You know, there's probably not much that you could tell me that isn't here already." He said, tapping the side of his head with one finger.

"You'd be surprised, Chuck. Very little of what happens in deep-cover operations ever finds its way into official reports. How many documents do you think we've filed saying that you're the Intersect?"

"Point taken." He nodded. "Ok. So there were these Soviet intelligence agents."

"And we had tracked them to the site of a big meeting of . . . well . . . other Soviet intelligence agents. Anyways, they were meeting in these huge yachts a hundred miles off of the coast, out in international waters. And these boats had absolute state-of-the-art communications jamming and camouflaging capabilities. We couldn't find their exact location with anything – satellites, sonar, submersible . . . well, anything. And it was vital that several people, and objects, that were on these yachts be acquired. So Bryce and I were assigned to monitor their base of operations on the shore. It was a big hacienda up on a cliff belonging to, uh, a really powerful Soviet agent. Bryce and I were in a little house about a half-mile down the beach. It was our job to wait for any communication between the house and the yachts and use the signal to tap into the yachts' security systems so we could listen in on the meeting and pinpoint an exact location for our teams to converge on. Seems quick and easy enough, right? Only, we sat for days with nothing. Not even so much as somebody opening and closing the gate at the drive or using an intercom to order breakfast. They were locked down tight on both ends. For all we knew they were prepared to hunker down out there for weeks.

"And you know how Bryce is." She stopped and shook her head. "Was."

"Yeah. He couldn't even sit still through an entire movie."

"Exactly. So he was starting to go a little – well, a lot – stir crazy. It wasn't only cabin fever either. We had just spent the last five months tracking these assholes over four continents and this was the closest we had come, and now we just had to sit there. I didn't mind the down time, but he was frantic to have the mission over and done with. His mother was sick and he wanted to get back home to her. He asked Graham every day for permission to infiltrate the base. Put a hard tap on the security system or at least shake things up and make some noise so we could finally get something off of the air. But Graham wouldn't change his mind. The whole thing was too important to risk any sort of exposure. He threatened Bryce with his very manhood if he penetrated the property in any way whatsoever." She stopped and waited for Chuck to make some sort of jealous crack about Bryce's manhood, but to her surprise he didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows as if to ask why she had stopped.

"We weren't supposed to leave the house, but after a couple more days he had me ready to tear my hair out so I told him to go take a walk in the jungle where nobody would see him. He came tearing back again not even fifteen minutes later, dumped out a duffel bag, and ran back out again. All he would say was that he had an idea.

"He came back again around dark to get his rock-climbing gear. I looked in the bag, and it was full of snakes."

"Snakes!" Chuck shuddered. "He could have killed himself."

Lisa shook her head. "I don't think they were poisonous. At least I hope not. Bryce had spent a lot of time in the jungle by then so he knew what he was doing."

"Still. Eeew." Chuck shuddered again.

"Yeah. It creeped me out too. I can't stand snakes. I almost screamed when I opened the zipper and one stuck its head out at me."

"Really? I thought you weren't afraid of anything." He said, pouring them each another shot. Ophidiophobia – one more thing they had in common.

"Everybody has fears, Chuck. I've just learned to control mine better than most people."

"So what else are you afraid of?"

"Losing you." She whispered, looking deep into his eyes in the moonlight and tracing her fingers along the line of his jaw. A single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye.

"Hey. Hey hey hey." He leaned in and kissed it away. "That isn't going to happen." He said it confidently, but she could hear just the slightest trace of doubt and worry in his voice. He kissed her again slowly, needing.

"So," she continued, a little breathless, after they had broken apart. She took a sip of her Captain Morgan to steady herself. "Bryce waited until dark and climbed the cliff up to the hacienda with his bag full of snakes. He snuck around the property line and let them go a few feet apart all around the perimeter. He said that he wasn't disobeying Graham's orders because he didn't put even so much as a toenail on the estate. He just put the snakes down and let them do the rest."

"How could he have known where they were going to go though? Jill had to spend hours getting Bryce through Zoology."

"Well, he couldn't I guess." Her stomach knotted up just a bit at the mention of Jill's name but she pushed the irritation aside. "But there wasn't much else up on that cliff and he figured they'd follow the smell of the barns and the kitchen."

"Did it work?"

"Umm hmm. Eventually. He did this every day for over a week. Every morning when I took over the surveillance he would run off into the jungle and come back with a bag full of snakes. There couldn't have been a single one left in a five-mile radius – he had to go farther and farther out every day and he would come back all covered in sweat and bug bites. He'd wait for dark and then climb up the cliff and let them go. There had to have been a thousand of them by the time he was done. We started hearing gunshots coming from up there. They must have been shooting at the snakes, but there was still nothing on the surveillance tab. I didn't think it was going to do any good, but at least Bryce was getting some energy out of his system, which a relief. Speed chess had long since stopped occupying him and he was driving me up a fucking wall.

"Then one night I accidentally fell asleep at the monitors after Bryce left and woke up with a woman screaming through my headphones. The Soviet agent who owned the house had just brought a new wife back from Ka-- from Russia, and she was shrieking over the radio to the yachts demanding to talk to her husband, wanting to know what kind of God forsaken, snake-infested hell hole he had taken her to."

"You speak 'Russian,' do you?" He asked making finger quotes around "Russian."

"Russian, Arabic, Mandarin, ten or so others. And I know enough of a few more to get the gist of what they're saying." She held up the Captain Morgan bottle with her eyebrows raised in a question.

He laughed. "Uh, no. I can't compete with that. I know some high school French and a little bit of Spanish that Poloñia taught me, but that's all."

"Well, I speak French and Spanish too, so there you go." She said and poured another drink. She only sipped at it this time though. She needed to slow down; one of them was going to have to drive them home tonight and she was starting to feel her cheeks flush from the alcohol. Or maybe it was just him.

She finished the story. Almost as soon as she heard the first sounds of yelling over the headphones, she had been able to tap into the hacienda's security system. Apparently the Syrian Sheik's young new wife had gone to take a bath only to find her tub full of snakes. Chuck laughed as she described and acted out how, naked, the woman – apparently with some assassin's training of her own – had gone on a rampage through the house, knocking out the security guards who tried to hold her down and flinging snakes about her in frustration. Without pausing to get dressed, she marched out to the barn and let out all of the horses to add to the confusion, then crossed to the hangar where the Sheik kept his helicopter and held the pilot at gunpoint until he agreed to take her out to her husband's yacht. Bryce, watching from the bushes doubled over laughing, had managed to toss a magnetic tracking device onto the belly of the helicopter as it passed overhead. He had come home riding one of the Sheik's prized Arabians bareback down the beach, his arms spread out to the sky, still howling with laughter.

"_Care to take a ride Mrs. Anderson?" He had asked, reaching down an arm. She let him pull her up behind him and they left the recording devices to monitor themselves for a little while._

"And we were able to track the helicopter straight out to the yachts and ascertain the Soviet's location. We used the radio communication between the helicopter and the ship to tap into the yacht's intercoms and were able to hear every word of the rest of their meeting," she finished. She neglected to tell him about how, when they had obtained the intelligence and the people they needed, she had given the order to burn the mission. How, by hitting the "Return" button on her MacBook after only the briefest of hesitations, she had ordered the air strike that killed almost one hundred people, mainly innocent civilians working as servants and crew. There were some things he was just better off not knowing. She drank again in the memory of that beautiful, young, Sheik's wife who had had no idea what a dangerous man she was marrying.

"I just wish I could have seen the look on that guy's face when his wife ran off of that helicopter, naked and screaming." Chuck laughed.

"Yeah. She certainly wasn't modest at all for a, for a Russian. Bryce and I got to hear the blowup between them later. It wasn't pretty. Can you believe Gram gave him a promotion for that shit?"

"For real?"

"Yeah. Said he liked the outside the box thinking on Bryce's part. That was when we went back to DC and he was assigned to the Intersect project."

"Was he able to be there when his mother died?"

"Yeah. That really tore him up."

"That's good. That he was there I mean, not that she died. Despite everything I thought Bryce had done to me, I always really loved his mother. She was a truly, truly wonderful person."

"I never got a chance to meet her. I've always regretted that."

"Yeah. You missed out."

And so an hour, and then another, passed. Chuck and Lisa sat talking, watching the storm inching closer, sipping Captain Morgan and picking the remains of the cold pizza out of its box; sometimes laughing, sometimes letting a few tears fall, stopping often to exchange slow, deep kisses. They swapped Bryce Larkin stories; Chuck going back to his old college days and Lisa telling of their adventures against the ever-present Soviet intelligence agents, leaving out most of the darker elements for Chuck's benefit.

"So we were undercover at this Soviet consulate dinner . . . "

"So Jill, Bryce, his girlfriend Amy and I were at Jill's parent's cabin in Tahoe and we got snowed in . . ."

"So Bryce and I had been captured by these Soviet assassins and they left him hanging by his ankles . . . "

"So we were at _The Blair Witch Project_ with Ellie and Morgan . . . "

Lisa had heard a lot of Chuck's stories before, but she enjoyed hearing him tell them from his own point of view, one where Bryce often hadn't come out looking as clever and funny as he thought he had. She even found herself not minding that Jill was so prominently featured in many of them. She was a part of his past, for better or worse. She was a little surprised that they chose to spend most of their one real night together talking about Bryce, but she supposed that he deserved a proper send-off, that this was in essence the funeral that he would never have. She and Chuck were the only two people left who would grieve his actual death. She called to mind the closing of a Dean Koontz book she had picked up at the airport before she boarded the redeye from DC to LA the night of Bryce's first death. She should have been reading up on her new mark, one Charles Irving Bartowski, but she had needed to distract herself from the feelings of grief and betrayal threatening to break through her composure. She didn't remember much of the plot other than it involved a couple of private detectives and a family of seriously creepy people with psychic abilities, most of whom had died. But when she had reached the end, as the protagonist was musing over the deaths of so many of the book's characters, he had written:

_. . . That was one of the most fundamental and sacred duties good friends and family performed for each other: they tended the flame of memory so no one's death meant an immediate vanishment from the world; in some sense the deceased would live on after their passing, at least as long as those who loved them lived. Such memories were an essential weapon against the chaos of life and death, a way to ensue some continuity from generation to generation, an endorsement of order and meaning . . ._

On reading that passage, her composure had broken for a moment and she carefully copied the passage to her notebook, turning to it numerous times over the next few months as she ached to talk to somebody about how she was grieving, how much his death and betrayal had hurt her. Now she had finally found that person.

As they ran out of Bryce Larkin stories, he began to question her about herself, gently probing, but never asking for more than she was willing to tell him.

"So if you were stuck on a desert island," he opened with, "with only one weapon and one piece of spy gear, what would you pick?"

She had chosen a knife and a CIA-issue satellite phone. When he specified that it be a non-communications piece of spy gear she chose a backpack parachute.

"Well that's pretty boring."

"Hey, you can do a lot with the ropes and fabric from a parachute; build a shelter, fishing nets, rig a sail."

"How . . . practical." He had gone with a crossbow and infrared night-vision goggles. "To hunt boar with," he explained, I've wanted to do that ever since I read _Lord of the Flies_ in junior high."

"Ugh. I never did like that one. My English teacher beat us over the head with the symbolism of the conch shell and the pig's head on a stick until I wanted to puke."

"Aw. No shot for me." He said, pouting.

"Go ahead and take one. We've both read it at least." The bottle was almost empty. She opened the duffel bag and brought out the bottles of water he had packed, taking a long drink.

"How about your birthday? Am I allowed to know that?"

"Wasn't it in my file when you flashed on me?"

"No. It was actually redacted for some reason. Casey's too."

"I guess no then. Birthdays can be dangerous things. You can find out a lot about a person with just a name and a date of birth."

"How 'bout your sign then? Can you narrow it down a bit for me?"

She thought for a minute. She guessed it wouldn't hurt. "I'm an Aries." He wrinkled his brow, looking confused. "Does that actually mean anything to you?"

"Well, not really." He admitted, but then, "wait . . . Morgan's an Aries and he just had a birthday a couple of weeks ago. So that means you just had one too. Happy Birthday! I hope it was a good one."

"Well . . ." she tempered, worming her way up under his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. "The waking up part was nice."

"Oh. _Oh_!" He realized her meaning with a snap of his head. "Well then . . .I just wish I had been able to give you a better present."

"Oh, don't worry, you did. And it was probably a good thing we had to stop anyways. If we hadn't, Casey would have busted in on us eventually, and _none_ of us would have wanted that!"

"Ya know? Right?" He dug his iPhone out of his pocket to enter her birthday on the calendar.

"Chuck. You shouldn't."

"It's ok. I'm marking it 'Lisa's Birthday.' There's a Lisa across the courtyard from me so it won't look suspicious."

She decided to let it drop. It was nice to think about him doing something sweet for her on her next birthday – if they were both still around by then. She brushed the thought aside and volunteered a story about her seventh birthday at Chuck E. Cheese. A couple of her father's more dangerous marks had caught on to him and busted up the party just as she was blowing out the candles on her cake. Her father had scooped her up and run to the back of the restaurant where he found one of the giant rat's costumes and hid both of them in it. They walked right past the angry men on their way out. "You know, for someone who always said that a good con man can leave town any time he wants to, we sure did spend a lot of time getting out pretty damned quickly."

"You've never known a life without always being in danger, have you?" He asked, sad and concerned.

She sighed heavily and wiped away a stray tear. "No." She still couldn't find the words to describe it. "But it was all I knew. And a life on the grift is nothing like what you've seen. Dad's bread and butter was the long con, which gets pretty boring in the middle and doesn't usually leave people shooting at you as you drive away. It wasn't until he stumbled into my world that he ever saw any actual gun play. I learned how to handle a gun when I was younger, but I never had to fire a live round until I joined the CIA. Well . . . that's not entirely true. Lizzie and I got a hold of some bullets and took dad's guns out a time or two."

"Lizzie? Is that the sister you mentioned that one night? The other little blonde lobster? I thought you made her up."

"Well, the sunburn story was true – most of what I said that night was true to some degree – but she wasn't exactly my sister. When I was nine, my father's mark was a rich widow with a daughter in the sixth grade. So we moved into the neighborhood and I joined her class to befriend her. Dad made contact with her mother through my friendship with her. He was playing the grieving widower so they had a lot to talk about while we were on play dates."

"Wait. You were in the sixth grade when you were nine?"

"Dad was a very good teacher. Since we never stayed one place long enough for me to make any real friends he made sure to take the time to see I got a good education. I had a full high school education by the time I was twelve and a college degree before I got my high school diploma. I could be in any grade I needed to be. And since I was tall it wasn't hard to pass as older."

"Impressive. What's your degree in?"

"Psychology."

He laughed. "Of course."

"I started working on a PhD on eastern African folklore after our unit on the region at the Academy. It's slow going, but I'm almost done."

"Wow, the stress of spy life and you're writing a dissertation for the fun of it? You really can do anything."

"I don't sleep much." _That's mostly your fault._

"So tell me about Lizzie."

Lisa smiled, remembering back to being Mandy Sanderson; the first -- and last -- truly happy year in her life. "Oh, she was always a wild child. She liked to pull pranks and fight with the boys and shoplift. I was always pulling her out of one sort of scrape or another. After a couple of months we moved into their house and it really was like we were sisters. We would stay up talking and giggling all night, sneak out after our parents went to bed and go get ice cream at the 7-Eleven. She talked me into sneaking backstage at a New Kids on the Block concert one time." She rolled her eyes. "Yes Chuck, eleven year old girls listened to the New Kids in the early nineties."

Chuck was rolling back and forth laughing, pounding his heels on the blanket. "I can . . . so . . . see you . . . in an NKOTB shirt . . . jumping up and down . . . screaming 'I love you Donnie!'" He choked out between guffaws.

She leaned back and kicked him in the ribs. "It was Jon. And we managed to stay backstage for almost a half hour before they found us and kicked us out. We got all of their autographs too."

"Ellie would have died. She used to listen to their tapes over and over and over again. I probably still know every word."

"I know we both do. We had a little sing-along night one night when we had had a bit too much wine."

"When was this? Why wasn't I there? I would have made sure Casey had to listen with the volume turned _all _the way up!"

"You were out all night playing Call of Duty at Morgan's. Awesome was stuck in the ER and Ellie called me over for a girl's night. We drank a couple of bottles of Merlot, and one thing led to another and her box of old tapes came out of the closet. We listened to all of them twice. Casey didn't talk to me for a week! I couldn't drive home and had to either crash at his place or let you find me in your bed when you came home."

"Well _I_ would have preferred the second option, personally. I have so got see that surveillance tape."

"I made him scrub it off his computer the next morning."

"I'm almost positive he kept a backup or two for possible future uses. Academy classes on cover maintenance maybe?"

"He wouldn't do that. He knows that would force me to bring out my tapes of him dancing around the house to Michael Bolton, making eyes at a picture of Ronald Reagan."

Chuck choked on his Captain.

"Hey, you didn't hear it from me." She could see him planning out his own little rogue surveillance mission in his head. She steered the conversation away from Casey. She didn't want to think about him making his report to Beckman and all that implied.

"I've always really envied you your relationship with Ellie. You're a lucky guy to have her."

"The luckiest guy in the world. She's come to think of you as a sister you know."

"I know. I just can't stand lying to her either, and it's easier to keep my distance most of the time."

"I really wish you wouldn't."

All she could do was cast him a pleading look. She just couldn't let herself get closer to his family without being in danger of losing Sarah Walker and the last shred of what she had been. How could she explain that to him?

"But we're not supposed to talk about us tonight, and I guess that means Ellie too. I'm sure there's more Lizzie stories."

_Thank God_. "Well, right after Dad and I moved in, she was digging around in his desk looking for his cigarettes and found some of the papers he was still working on from our last job. All that day at school she was grinning this big, goofy smile and when we got home, she got a sledgehammer out and started knocking down the wall between our rooms. I grabbed another one and started helping her. I was kinda pissed off that she hadn't told me what was going on all day. She finally spun around and gave me this big hug and told me that our parents were trying to con each other. She and her mom had been on the grift since she was just a baby too. After that we could talk to each other completely honestly; no secrets, no lies. There was finally one other person on the planet who really understood what it was like to be me. I had never had that before. Or since, really." _As much as I hate to say it, not even tonight._

"Did your parents figure it out?"

"Eventually. We all had a good laugh about it. But there still wasn't much else going on worth chasing after so we all stayed together for nearly a year. It was almost like having a real family. We stuck to small easy jobs; armored trucks, Girl Scout cookies, that kind of thing."

"The annual Salvation Army con job?"

"Of course. Dad eventually found a golden opportunity for a Lichtenstein that he just couldn't pass up and they parted ways with no hard feelings. I, however, really did feel like I was losing a sister. Saying goodbye to her was one of the hardest things I've ever done. But we exchanged our new aliases and managed to keep in touch a little bit. We worked together again a couple of times in high school and it was all beer and jocks and drag racing with her then. She had the pink slips to about half the hot rods in Bozeman, Montana before I had to drag her out of town kicking and screaming with half of the football team and not a few cops chasing us. I took my pick of the cars and sold the rest. The next time in Las Vegas when she and her mom skipped town she took my entire wardrobe, accessories included, and my boyfriend with her."

"How nice of her."

"Yeah. Natasha had expensive tastes too."

"In boys or clothes?"

"Both. He was a casino owner's son, and the clothes were all designer labels."

"What kind of car?"

"1964½ Mustang convertible. Cobalt Blue. I loved that thing, drove it for years. I named her Lizzie, in honor."

"Nice. Do you still get to see her?"

"Oh, we run into each other from time to time."

_I knew it was you. You always telegraph your punches._

_Bloody nose says otherwise._

She told him about Natasha Novikov and how she swept the captain of the football team, golden boy, and son of a prominent investment banker off of his feet, snatching him away from Lizzie – then Vanessa Metcalf – by charming her way into the exclusive prep school's inner circle.

"_Please _don't tell me you were a cheerleader."

She shook her head. "Vanessa was though. Her mom's primary con was to marry and divorce wealthy men and push them for a large lump sum payment instead of alimony, so they stayed in one place for longer than I ever did. I was never around long enough to join any activities. Except for orchestra. You can play music wherever you go. It pissed Vanessa off even more that her head cheerleader lost the guy to my band geek."

"Will I ever get to hear you play?" He asked.

"Oh, I dunno. I'm pretty out of practice." It was modesty, but she was still lying. Her violin had always been a source of escape for her and she had been playing more than ever the last two years.

As the coming gale blew closer to the shore, she told him about Beth Henderson learning her first screeching scales, Marcie Sullivan and the dance company con, her stays in foster care while her father was in jail, the times she had to climb on a Greyhound bus and leave everything behind but what she could carry in her backpack, the recruitment of Jenny Burton and how Agent Graham had been like a father to her and how much it had shaken her up when he died. She had never talked so much, not since those long nights with Lizzie in their Denver bedroom almost twenty years before. Bryce hadn't even known so much about her after two years, but then again, he had never been much of one for long talks. Her voice was starting to get hoarse when the first drops of rain began denting the sand around them and Chuck's phone rang. He picked it up and she saw Morgan striking a goofy pose on the screen. When he answered she could hear babbling voices in the background and somebody singing _Total Eclipse_ _of the Heart_ slightly off key. She hummed along as she listened to Chuck's end of the conversation.

"Hey buddy! Still going at it I hear . . . is that JEFFSTER!? . . . And Jeff's still sober? . . . Well wonders never cease. Whatever else you wanna say about those guys, at least they've got heart . . . no kidding? . . . Hey, you should get Casey up there, he used to be a choir boy you know . . . He's not?"

Chuck and Lisa both frowned, concerned. Casey had said he was going to swing by the reception tonight and congratulate the happy couple.

"Oh. How long ago did he leave? . . . Uh, huh . . . No, no. Sarah wasn't feeling well so I took her home. I looked for you on the way out but didn't see you anywhere . . . Yeah I know . . . with a colon that spastic."

He heaved a big fake sigh, grinning over at her. She gathered up a handful of cold, damp sand and dumped it down the back of his T-shirt.

"Ay, ay yay ya!" He jumped to his feet and pointed a finger down at her. _Oh it's so on!_ He mouthed. "What? . . . What? . . . No. Sarah needed some, um, privacy so I took a drive out to the beach. I think I just stepped on a jellyfish . . . .aw, you know I'd love to, but you guys are going to have to pack it in soon anyways. There's a pretty big storm heading your way . . . Yeah, that's thunder . . . Nah, I'm just gonna pick up some Pepto and check on Sarah . . . Will do . . . No. I'll just crash over there, give Ellie and Awesome their privacy . . . Yeah, yeah I will . . . . Of course not! You don't think I would let the Great Morgan Grimes leave town with out a proper send-off do you? . . . Yeah, we'll talk about it tomorrow night . . . See you then . . . Anna too. Tell Ellie that I love her . . . you too buddy. . . Bye." As soon as he hung up the phone he reached down, picked up a double handful of sand and returned the favor, staining her white tank with mud and purple juice from the rose petals. "Casey put in a brief appearance then left about an hour ago, and Morgan says hi!"

"You know, " Lisa put a tone of mock furiosity in her voice, "you could have come up with something a little less disgusting to explain why I don't feel well so often. Do you know how humiliating it is to have to fake a spastic colon twice or more a month?" She ground a handful of sand into the back of his head.

He lunged over and tackled her. She let him roll her on her back and pin her under him, her wrists clasped tightly in his hand above her head. "Like what?"

"Oh, I dunno, migraines?"

"Tourette's Syndrome?"

"Bad back?"

"Flesh-eating bacteria?"

"An ulcer?"

"Festering anal pustules?"

She locked her legs around his waist and rotated her torso quickly, slamming him down onto the sand beside her while she rolled on top of him, pinning his own arms at the elbows and grinding her iliac crest hard up against his. She lowered her head until her lips were a mere millimeter from his. "You keep that up Chuck Bartowski, and I'll make sure you'll walk into your next mission wearing a tutu. A big fluffy pink one with tights, sequins, the whole nine yards." He grinned and lifted his head to kiss her, but she pulled back and nipped at the end of his nose instead.

"Only if you're wearing one of those little French Maid's outfits." He said as he arched his back then swung his legs up between her straddled thighs, pushing her to somersault over him. She spun quickly on her knees, giving herself plenty of time to maneuver as he came out of his own clumsy somersault with his back turned to her. _Bad move._

"Yawn." She said as she launched herself onto his back before he could turn to face her, catching his throat in the crook of her arm but not applying any significant pressure. "I've done that one a hundred times. What is it about guys and French maids?" She bit the top of his ear and tugged.

He threw himself backwards, planting her back in the sand harder than she expected. Her breath left her in a grunt. She had not braced herself nearly hard enough. _Getting better,_ she thought.

He rolled quickly away from her, rising into a half crouch and beginning to circle. "How about a truck stop hooker then? Short little cutoffs, holey fishnets, plaid shirt, combat boots, bubble gum?"

She levered herself onto her feet and circled him. "Like that would you?"

"I like you in anything. Except maybe raw sewage."

She dove headfirst towards his waist, hooking it with her arm and sending them crashing into the blanket. "I'll just make sure to not bathe for a week beforehand so I can . . . really . . . sell it." She said as she spun them over three times in quick succession.

With an ear-shattering clap of thunder, the bottom fell out of the sky in driving sheets of rain. They were soaked through in seconds but continued to grapple and banter, Lisa holding back less and less as she tested his abilities. He was more agile than she would have thought, with a strength belied by his lanky frame. He had good instincts and decent reflex time but was much too slow on the offensive, his next move obvious before he did so much as twitch in her direction. Still, she was impressed. For a rank novice he definitely had a lot of potential; particularly given the amount of liquor he had consumed. She wondered if she was seeing some remnants of his bizarre flash in the Intersect room or if he had been working out without telling either her or Casey. Neither idea particularly appealed to her. The first she simply didn't want to consider the ramifications of, the second could get him injured and she didn't want to see him hurt. She didn't let herself sink too deeply into her senses this time for fear she might accidentally hurt him, but her entire attention was still focused completely on him. At the center of everything was still his name. _Chuck_.

They stopped abruptly at the sound of a sharp crack and a loud hiss; lightning was striking the water very close to them. "I think that's our cue to go." Lisa said, but made no move to climb off of him.

He tucked a strand of dripping blond hair behind her ear so he could look her full in the face. "There is one more thing I wanted to ask you before we leave." He said seriously.

"And what is that?" She asked a little worriedly.

He grinned. "Can I drive the Porsche?"

She laughed and pushed his head down into the sand. "Not unless your life very literally depends on it."

"Well then," he said rolling her over gently and kissing her hard before he stood up. "Take me home, Lisa Carmichael."


	4. Casey vs The Night Off

_AN: Well, here we go, my stab at John Casey. Believable? I don't know. I'll let y'all be the judges. He's a hard man to get to know._

_I was hoping to roll this out along with Chapter 5, the tag-end of the night from Chuck's POV, but my very own Sarah Walker has agreed to do me the honor of taking a road trip with me, and my dryer just died. So off to the laundromat I go!_

_Thanks again for the reviews! It's great to know that there are people reading out there. Hope you enjoy it._

_****_

CHAPTER 4

_Casey vs. The Night Off_

Colonel Jonathan Bertram Casey IV USMC, NSA moved into position on the rock ledge and raised his night-vision binoculars to watch the lanky man jogging along the beach towards him. Well, he had to give the kid some credit. He had told him to give her some time and he had made it a whole hour and twenty minutes. For Bartowski that was damn near self-restraint.

_Eyes on the asset at all times Colonel_, the General had directed him. _Understood_?

He understood. It didn't warrant an explanation.

_And the Bartowskis have the night _off_. I promised Orion his daughter's wedding night for his loved ones. Barring any emergencies, that also includes Agent Walker._

Casey had grunted an affirmative but hadn't said anything. That didn't warrant an explanation either. The General had made her decision on the matter. And so had he. If he was going to be working in an underground bunker with Walker and Bartowski for God only knows how long it would honestly be a relief once the tension between the two of them finally broke. All of Team Bartowski had been breathing a bit easier since Bonnie and Clothead had come back from their little escapade in Barstow.

But it didn't mean he wanted to watch it.

_With rank comes responsibility, Colonel._ He told himself.

And it was frickin' cold out here.

He stretched his toes inside his boots. The spot where his left pinky toe had been still ached in cold weather. He supposed it always would. The metal pins holding his right humerus together had spent the last fifteen years reliably letting him know when bad weather was approaching. And there was one hell of a shitstorm on the horizon.

He shifted his view to the figure of Agent Walker sitting alone below him. Despite her bare feet and thin tank top that just barely managed to cover her . . . well, assets . . . she gave no sign of feeling the stiff breeze blowing her hair back from her face into a mass of long tangles. She sat casually, her chin resting on an arm draped over her knees, her other hand absently tracing designs in the sand. She may as well have been lounging on a beach in Maui in July. For that matter, Bartowski was down to his bare feet and V-neck and showing no signs of being anything other than a little sore.

_Suck it up Casey_. He told himself and followed their example, shrugging out of his windbreaker, trying not to think about the nice warm bed he had waiting for him at home.

As he shifted he accidentally dislodged a small rock and it went clattering down the hillside, the noise barely audible above the wind and surf.

Agent Walker immediately raised her head, her jaw set as she swept her eyes over the rocks around him. Casey ducked down behind the scrub and lowered his binoculars. For a moment he had seen another face, another long-limbed girl sitting on a windy cliffside in the mountains of Kosovo, combat helmet resting on one knee, M16 propped against the other, pale blue eyes searching the mountainside in just the same manner, her hand moving instinctively to the stock of the rifle just as Walker's drifted towards the boots sitting beside her.

Casey pulled a flask out of his hip pocket, then thought better of it and put it back away.

They had love to keep them warm.

It took practice to stay cold.

***

Walking through the archway into the courtyard, John winced as he heard the sound of drunk and drunker belting out _Hold Me Now_ in clashing two-part harmony. Warm bed or no, Waziristan was looking better and better. Never mind that he wasn't even entirely sure where it was; it was looking decidedly safe and cozy compared to what was looming in front of him. Not to mention those two cretins in his courtyard on a regular basis.

_Keepin' the country safe for freaks like you._ He threw a two-fingered salute to the pair as he passed.

Still, he puffed up his chest, put his best howdy-neighbor-I'm-a-nice-guy smile on his face and stepped out into the still-considerable crowd of people. He plucked a flute of champagne off of a serving table and popped a stuffed mushroom into his mouth while he scanned the crowd.

He spotted Big Mike in the corner with Poloñia draped over his bulk, whispering suggestively in his ear. Anna and Morgan were deep in conversation sitting on the edge of the fountain. And despite the mangled mess the toneless twins were making out of the music, several couples slow danced; Ellie and Devon Woodcomb in the center of them. She was leaning heavily on him, her eyes closed and a soft smile on her face as she rested her head on her husband's shoulder; all but asleep on her feet but still dancing her wedding night away.

As the pair turned around, Devon caught his gaze.

_Chuck all right?_ He mouthed.

He gave Devon a quick ok sign. _He's with Sarah._

Devon nodded.

Feeling Devon shift, Ellie raised her head and gave John a long, level stare.

_She knows something._

Well, that shouldn't surprise him. Ellie was smart as a whip – she _was_ a Bartowski after all -- and a very keen observer. She was bound to find out something sometime. It wasn't like this operation had been the most . . . professional . . . of his career.

He was going to have to get the two of them out of here for their own protection. He knew she wasn't going to go easy.

He raised his glass of champagne to her. _Congratulations_.

_Thank you_. She returned, and laid her head back on Devon's shoulder.

Casey let his eyes drift around the party one more time as he drained the champagne flute. Everything appeared secure, safe, normal.

Considering his social obligations fulfilled, Casey threaded his way through the crowd to his apartment door. He used his key to open the deadbolt and ran his forefinger over the concealed biometric lock he had added after finding captain frat boy caged in his living room. Just one more frickin' complication to this whole goddamned mess. Once inside, he pressed his thumb against another touchpad and entered a seventeen-digit alphanumeric code to disarm the security system and activate the bank of computers in the living room.

Funny, the computer system had already been activated.

Casey drew the gun at his back and turned to survey his living room.

"Hello, John."

Orion took his feet off of Casey's desk and leaned forward into the greenish orange glow of the computer screens.

_How did he--? Never mind, he's Orion._

"Orion." Casey reholstered his gun.

"Please, call me Steve tonight."

"Alright . . . Steve." Casey moved to the desk and leaned over Orion's shoulder to scroll through the security feeds, check Bartowski's location.

"Everything's secure, John."

"Well I hope you don't mind if I take a look for myself."

"Not at all, John. Not at all."

Casey came to the camera in Bartowski's bedroom – and the sight of Honey and Woody Woodcomb in the bed. "Huh. Girl on top. I see why you're over here."

"Well, that and I thought we could have a cigar. Would you care to step out onto the patio?"

"My orders are eyes on Chuck at all times. I was just coming by to get my gear."

"We can do both." Orion pulled back his sleeve revealing a touchpad wrapped around his arm.

"I thought you gave that to Chuck."

"I have a spare. I always have a backup plan." He tapped a few buttons and an image of Chuck, taken from the dashboard camera in Ellie's car, appeared. He was driving with the windows down and singing along with something. Thankfully, there was no audio.

"I'll get the scotch."

John and Steve remained silent as they settled into the patio chairs and lit their cigars. The closed doors and windows of the apartment provided them a degree of relief from the noise of the party. Seeing that Orion was waiting for him to speak first, Casey opened.

"Are we secure?"

"I said we were. I've turned off your bugs out here too."

"So you saw everything that happened?"

Orion shook his head. "The first part in the Intersect building. I haven't had time to establish a link with Castle. You guys have done impressive work there."

Casey grunted a thank you. Like his two-fingered hunt and pecking had had anything to do with it.

"Did you have audio?"

"No. But I saw Chuck flash. In the bathroom?"

"Alright then, Steve."

Casey took a swallow of scotch and drag off of his cigar and began his briefing to Orion.

***

Casey had been in the men's room when the walking, talking supercomputer came sliding in calling his name.

"Hold on a sec, Bartowski." He said, turning his head over his shoulder. "Keep it –"

"In my pants?"

Casey grunted and zipped. _Fat chance._ He moved over to the sink to wash his hands. "What do you want, Bartowski? Looking for some more ways to get Walker to smack you around?"

Chuck leaned wearily back against the edge of the sink. "Ha ha Casey. Go ahead and mock my angst. No. I flashed. On a ring Bryce was carrying with him. And Casey, Fulcrum . . . Fulcrum . . . "

"What about Fulcrum, Bartowski? We've just captured five agents who claim _not_ to be Fulcrum."

"They aren't. Fulcrum, it's small compared to this; it's very, very small."

"What do you mean?"

"Fulcrum is just a tiny little piece in a very, _very _big puzzle. Like one of those 5,000 piece monsters that it takes weeks to put together. Or a very teeny tiny-"

"Spare me the analogies Bartowski. I haven't slept in three days, I've driven to Barstow and back twice and was halfway to Waziristan when I got your little voice mail this morning. I'm fucking exhausted and I don't want to spend the rest of the night looking at your ugly mug."

"Hey, where is Waziristan anyways?"

Casey curled back his lip and growled.

"Ok. Ok. It's just . . . I don't know where to start."

"Try the beginning. Better yet, jump to the punch line."

"Ok." Chuck turned to meet Casey's eyes in the mirror. "Remember _The X-Fi-_"

Chuck's body went rigid and his eyes rolled back in his head. After a long moment his knees buckled under him and he sank towards the floor. Casey caught him before he could hit his head on the bathroom counter.

Just at that instant Walker poked her head through the door. At the sight of Casey holding up her limp boyfriend, she quickly slipped inside and moved towards them.

"What happened?"

"He flashed."

Walker's eyes darted around the sterile room. "On what?"

"Himself."

Her eyes snapped open wide as she met his, shock written on her face, her mouth moving in an unspoken curse.

Bartowski groaned and pulled himself onto the bathroom counter. He swore softly to himself as he put a finger to his nostril and it came away bloody. Walker grabbed a paper towel and leaned over to apply pressure to his nose, her other hand stroking his hair. "You ok Chuck?"

"Sarah . . . " he said weakly, twisting his mouth into a grim smile, "you're in the little boy's room again."

Sarah shot him a look but Casey could see traces of relief on her face. She maneuvered one of Chuck's arms over her shoulders. "Help me get him out of here."

***

Team Bartowski trudged down the stairs into the Castle bunker. The mess from this afternoon had been cleaned up and the place looked the same as ever. All three looked around wearily as they crossed to the conference table and sat down. _Well, here we all are again._ _Yip de frickin' do._

Bartowski had recovered on the drive over, but hadn't spoken, just sat in the back seat of the Vic with his eyes closed, his face growing more and more concerned. He refused to say anything until they could get to a secure location. A secure location? Bartowski never thought in terms of security. It was all Casey could do to keep the little twerp from announcing he was a spy over the intercom at the Buy More.

They sat quietly around the table for a long while only occasionally looking at each other. Walker had her head in one hand and was studying the fingernails of the other; Bartowski was leaning back with his eyes closed, hands clasped over his forehead, muttering softly to himself. Casey, abandoning his rigid military posture for once, sat slumped forward with his chin resting on his steepled fingertips. Finally, he had enough.

"Ok Agent Mulder. Spill it. And if you start talking about black oil and giant sewer-dwelling fluke men I'm going to deIntersect you with my bare hands."

Walker looked up at him, confusion written between her brows.

Where _was _that girl in the nineties?

"No. No. Nothing like that. I'm talking about the global shadow conspiracy. And the supersoldiers in the ninth season. Sorta. Which, by the way, as a plot point was pretty –"

"Chuck!" He was in danger of losing what passed for his calm center. The fleeting anticipation of his interrupted MARSOC mission aside, all he really wanted was a glass of scotch, a Cuban and a warm bed. He was going to listen to whatever giddy revelations Bartowski had picked up from his shiny new Intersect toy, tell him to forget about it until tomorrow and leave him to try and get Walker's legs all shaky again. He'd think about the kung fu fighting in the morning.

"Have you ever heard of the RING?"

Casey snapped his head up and exchanged a look with his partner.

This was going to be a long night.

The thought of his bed passed through his mind one more time, then he firmly pushed it away.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Chuck," Sarah started, "the RING is a myth. It really is something Mulder and . . . Sukie should be chasing after. Not real-life agents."

Casey rolled his eyes and groaned. "Scully, Walker. Scully."

Chuck suppressed a smile and continued. "Yeah, well that's what we said about Fulcrum at first. And we're not chasing them. They're chasing us."

Walker explained. "The RING is an intelligence world ghost story, Chuck. The biggest conspiracy theory there is. Every few years some deep-cover operative surfaces with some crazy stories, says they're going after the RING. Then they gather their resources and disappear again. Nobody really takes them seriously. This line of work does breed a type of . . . paranoia . . . in some people." She cast a knowing look in Casey's direction.

Casey grunted cynically, but inside his stomach was churning. The RING? Were they really going up against the RING? Nobody would admit it, but that was every intelligence agent's wet dream. He glanced over at Walker – well, most agents.

"Do they come back?"

Walker kept her eyes carefully on her fingernails. "No," she said. "They don't."

Bartowski nodded grimly.

"So I don't have to tell you how big they are, how they're tied into every level of the globe in government and civilian life. Bryce managed to infiltrate their lower ranks after he left last year, posing as a double. That's why he came back to download the new Intersect and destroy it. He was never going to Switzerland. He was going deep again to fight the RING from inside it – and to protect us."

Casey looked over at Walker contemplating her cuticles, brow furrowed in thought. He did her a favor and asked what she wouldn't. "Was he taking Walker with him?"

Walker looked up and Bartowski reached across the table to put his hand over hers. "No," he said, speaking softly to her, "if you hadn't decided to walk away on your own he would have talked you into leaving. He didn't want you in that much danger."

_Walker was going to walk away?_ He looked at the two of them again. She had placed her other hand on top of his and was looking at him with that the-sun-shines-out-of-Bartowski's-skinny-white-ass look. _Of course she was_. Female agents never made it too long anyways. The only ones you typically found still in the game after their mid-thirties were personalities like Forrest, Beckman or Sasha Banicheck. _Still, what a waste_. He had meant it when he said she was the best partner he had ever had.

He grunted his number-twelve grunt. Really, they could go on telling each other deep and meaningful things with their eyes _after_ he had left the room.

Walker took a deep breath and pulled herself together. "But what do they want? Why are they coming after us? They're not known for making big moves. Do they know about you?"

Bartowski chose to deal with the last question first. "No. They don't know what I was, what I am. They're after Dad, after Orion. They're building – have been building -- an army, and they want the new Intersect. They weren't too interested in the old one. I guess they have some other way to pass intelligence, so they never paid too much attention to Fulcrum. It was like a punishment assignment to them. But when Perseus came up with the new core they got interested. Very interested."

Casey asked, "What's this army for?"

"I don't know. To fight the future? They didn't exactly upload a mission statement."

"What about--" Casey threw a karate chop at Bartowski's face stopping a hair's breadth from the crest of his nose. Instead of blocking, Chuck flinched backwards and fell out of his chair. _This is going to be a whole barrel of fun._ He thought grimly. _And, of course, I'll be in charge of training the FNG._

"Thank you Casey." Bartowski said through tight lips as he picked himself gingerly up and dusted himself off. "I don't know that either. It wasn't in the files I saw. All I know is that I was standing there thinking we're about to die, going through that list in my head again – it's finally getting a little bit shorter -- and then . . . it was like somebody took the controller out of my hand. Like I was watching them drive my body. And pretty much as soon as it was over, it was gone. And I was just me again." He held his hands out apologetically. "But that, whatever that was, that's what they want."

Casey was relieved that the new flashes looked like they were going to be short. Watching Chuck Bartowski playing kung fu fighting had been . . . disturbing . . . to say the least. So was the idea of training him. The kid had serious brains, he had to give him that, but assassin's skills? Come on.

"What about this?" Walker asked pulling a silver ring out of her pocket.

"That is a key." Bartowski motioned for her to pass the ring to Casey. "See these imperfections on the inside of the band? They're actually very deliberately engineered. They allow access to specific protected databases. They're sort of like anonymous drop boxes for agents to pick up their instructions and make their reports without directly interacting with a superior. When I flashed on it, I saw Bryce's assignment. Normally you'd need a special reader hardwired into their mainframe, but I guess I can get around that."

Casey examined the ring. The inside of the band just looked like it showed normal wear and tear to him. Something about the two snakes biting each other's tails tugged at his memory, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Bartowski left him holding the ring and started to pace.

Walker opened her mouth, but Casey held up his hand before she could ask. First things first. "Will every RING agent have one of these?"

"No. That's too easy. Bryce was a new recruit, low down in the ranks so I think this is more of a temporary thing. But they'll all have something. Jewelry maybe but more likely something more, I don't know . . . subtle."

Casey had a few ideas.

"What did the file say, Chuck? What is it he was supposed to do?" Walker asked.

"He was assigned to us. To monitor us." Here he stopped for a long pause, looking at each of them intently before he took a deep breath and continued.

"And they know everything." He blurted out. "Your covers, Charles Carmichael, Awesome and Ellie, Awesome's parents, Morgan and Anna, her parents in Taiwan, Big Mike, Poloñia, even Jeff and Lester. They had dossiers on all of Devon's fraternity brothers, Ellie's colleagues at the hospital and their families, our old high school friends and their families, your dad, Sarah. John, your family. Everybody. They know where we live, what we do, our third grade report cards. They, they don't know about me, about what I am, but they know who I'm working with and that I'm Orion's son, that they can get to him through me. And they won't stop until they get him. They're ready to take L.A. apart piece by piece if that's what it takes."

Chuck stopped pacing with his back to the two agents, feigning a sudden interest in the bank of computer monitors.

Casey stared at Walker. He kept his face carefully blank, but he knew she must be able to see the war behind his eyes the same as he could see the emotions flying through hers.

"Chuck--" she began.

"Wait." Casey held up his hand again. There were some things far more important than her Bartowski feelings at the moment. She should see that that right off, dammit.

"How long do we have?"

Bartowski turned around. He glanced briefly at Walker and then directed his answer to Casey while he started pacing again. "We have time. Thirteen weeks, possibly twenty-four, until we can expect to see it all really unfold I would think. Bryce was part of a small, advanced force. Their plan was to download the Intersect into their agents and use it to move on Orion quietly. We took care of all but three of them tonight. But threat of exposure isn't going to stop them for long. Destroying the Intersect set them back. They'll have to get a new location and build the infrastructure and that takes months. They'll wait until they're more firmly entrenched to make a move on Orion, though that won't stop them from looking in the meantime. But I think . . . "

Bartowski stopped pacing and looked over Sarah's head, meeting Casey's eyes directly. Casey held his gaze and was surprised to see something new there. He tried to cover a hitch in his breath with an inquisitive grunt.

"I think, that if we play our cards right . . . we can get ahead of them. We can be ready for them when they move."

Casey had seen the look in those eyes hundreds of times before, on hundreds of young men. Chuck Bartowski was going into battle. He was determined. He was ready.

"Chuck! No!" Sarah stood up and whirled around to face him.

"Sarah, don't." He kept Casey's gaze, didn't look at her. "John, you need to get your family underground."

Casey nodded.

"Your father too, Sarah."

"Chuck!" Her face was red, mouth working furiously, tears brimming in her eyes. "You have to run! When your father leaves you have to go with him."

"Sarah! I. Said. _Don't." _Bartowski slammed his hand down hard on the table. He winced slightly at the force of the impact and flexed his fingers a few times, but continued to speak to her through gritted teeth. Rather than back down in the face of his fury, Walker took a challenging step forward placing them chest-to-chest.

"I am _not_ leaving my family to these madmen. I will _not_ walk away knowing that they will tear through everybody I have ever known or loved one by one while they look for me. We can't all go underground and I will _not_ leave them behind. If I'm here, they'll focus on me. I _will_ play the bait. I _will _stay and fight. And not you, or anybody else, can stop me."

Casey swallowed audibly. He had seen something else in Bartowski's eyes as he delivered that speech. The same thing he had seen in his own every time he looked in the mirror; until he had landed in this nerd herd flavored candyland that was.

Bartowski's eyes were cold.

Walker saw it too, but didn't back down.

Casey couldn't let that happen. Chuck wasn't ready. _He_ wasn't ready. He had seen trained assassins break who weren't prepared for the realities of their assignments and Chuck had only begun to scratch the surface of what he was facing. Casey couldn't watch that again, especially in a man who had never asked for this life to begin with.

Casey was also very aware that he had just ceased to exist to the both of them. Something had to be done about that as well. Walker needed her A-game now more than ever. He accepted her feelings towards Bartowski, he had no choice, but she couldn't allow herself to become blinded by them. Not anymore.

He cleared his throat loudly but got no response from either. As he was about to reach in and physically pull the two apart, Bartowski, thankfully, took care of it for him. As he looked at the woman he loved in front of him determinedly holding back her tears, his face softened and his jaw relaxed. His eyes were still resolute but had regained a portion of their normal warmth. He put his hand on her neck and touched his forehead to hers.

"And as much as I love you Sarah Walker, I can't run from this. I'm the only one with this . . . this . . . whatever it is in my head. I have to protect the people that I love. Or die trying." His voice trailed off.

Walker sniffed and brushed a rogue tear from her cheek. She opened her mouth to speak, but then pulled back with a glance towards Casey.

Chuck sat on the table next to her and grabbed her hands. "You can leave. Right now. Just go, drive away and don't look back. Get yourself safe. I want you to be safe. Go be with your father, or, or anybody else you have. I won't . . . I won't blame you. I have no right to ask you to stay and watch this."

Walker breathed a nervous laugh and ran a hand through his hair. "Chuck, have you lost your mind completely? I'm not going anywhere. And it was stupid for me to think that you would have done anything any differently."

"So," he asked, the beginnings of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth, "you're in?"

Agent Walker squared her shoulders and raised her chin. She gave both of them a long look and nodded. Affirmative. "I'm in."

"Good." Bartowski smiled, relieved. "I don't think I could do it without you."

He turned to face Casey. "You too John, it's your choice. You could be with them, keep them safe."

For a moment John Casey looked at Sarah Walker and allowed himself to see someone else. Almost the same frame, but with sandy brown hair, glacier blue eyes and freckles. He saw the eight-year-old boy beside her who wore his face. And for a moment, he was tempted. But there was no place in this for selfishness. They were the reason he did what he did every day. And Bartowski needed him more.

"They'll be fine. She knows what to do. I'm in."

"Semper Fi?"

"Semper Fidelis."

"Okaaaaaaaay." Bartowski blew out a long breath, rubbing his hands together and raising his eyebrows at both of them, something of his old self again. "I guess we should call the General." He moved towards Castle's main computer.

Agent Walker sprang into immediate action, crossing the room to one of the secondary consoles. "Chuck, we need to know every detail of what's in those files. If you can't show them to us somehow, you're going to have to dictate them." Twenty fingers were clacking on the keyboards.

"That'll take hours."

Casey raised his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. Twenty fingers abruptly stopped.

"This is the last time that I will remind you that I am the ranking officer here and until we are notified otherwise, I am in charge." Casey barked.

Bartowski snapped up straight.

Walker looked at him coolly, raised her eyebrows just a fraction of an inch. _You think so?_

He glanced at Chuck briefly and allowed the faintest of upwards movements in his shoulder. _He needs me to be_. He knew damn well Walker wouldn't be following any order she didn't choose to. She was no longer Bartowski's handler; she was his personal bodyguard. But she was exactly who he needed to keep him alive.

She gave a nearly imperceptible nod. "And what are your orders, _Colonel_ Casey?"

"Team Bartowski takes the night off. This mission doesn't begin until we receive our orders tomorrow."

"But, Casey, this is –"

"No buts Walker. We are tired, we are hungry, and our _emotions_ are running far too thin. Bartowski says we're safe for a while, and right now he's all we have to go by. Beckman won't be any less informed tomorrow morning for us not waking her up tonight. We all deserve a little R&R before this shitstorm lands. Go rest up Walker. I need to keep your boy toy a little while longer."

He purposefully turned his back and rifled through a drawer as Bartowski and Walker exchanged another one of their long sloppy looks. God, he would be glad when that was over.

"COB Walker." He said finally when she gave no sign of moving. "You don't have to go home --"

She lifted an eyebrow. "But I can't stay here?"

Well, whaddya' know? She got one.

"And Walker?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened in this bunker tonight – "

"Stays in the bunker." She finished.

Casey grunted. Two in a row. Maybe there was hope for her yet. Of course, she _would_ know all about Vegas, her and that . . . friend . . . of hers.

Bartowski watched as she climbed the stairs. Towards the top, she turned back. "Hey, Chuck? Was my third grade report card in there?"

"What?"

"My third grade report card. Was it in your flash like everybody else's?"

Bartowski frowned. "I'm not sure exactly, there was so much. Let me look." He stood blankly for a minute, eyes moving rapidly as if speed-reading. "There doesn't seem to be much beyond service files on our known contacts. Barker, Cole; Casey, John; Davis, Carina; Forrest, Alexandra; Montgomery, Roan; here we are, Walker, Sarah . . . no. There's nothing there before Jennifer Burton in 1997." His brow furrowed at that as if he were confused.

Walker nodded. "Good. Dad'll be fine then. It's better if we don't try to find him." She turned and walked out of the base.

Bartowski watched until the door had sealed shut behind her and then groaned loudly. His composure dissolved and he limped to the table to put his head down on his arms. "Why didn't I choose the blue pill Casey?"

"Welcome to the rabbit hole Bartowski." Casey replied, and shot him in the neck with a dart.

"Hey! What was that for? I wasn't even- wait . . . I'm still conscious." He thought about it for a second. "Damn."

"It not a tranq, numbnuts. It's a pain killer."

"Well then thanks, I guess. You didn't have shoot me with it though!"

"Would you rather I walked up behind you with a hypodermic and told you to drop your pants?"

"Good point. Good point." Bartowski plucked out the dart and moved around experimentally, testing his limbs. "Not bad. How come you never shared that with me before?"

"You never needed it before." He saw the kid looking sadly down at his ankle. Please. Clipped by a windowsill? That hadn't deserved government-grade drugs.

Bartowski rose to his feet and stretched fully, seemingly revived. He wandered in the direction of the staircase. "Well . . . "

Casey hooked him by the back of his shirt. "Not so fast Romeo. I told you to give her time and I mean it." Like the schmuck stood any chance of catching up with her now. Not when she had a 911 and a winding coast road at her disposal.

"How long?"

Casey grunted. Now he was supposed to play relationship coach too?

"I'm gonna go get us some pizza. At least that long."

***

Casey walked across the parking lot from the Sbarro balancing two pizza boxes on his palm. On an impulse, he went into the Quick Stop and picked up a six-pack and a pack of cigarettes. With no cigars or scotch at hand, some horse piss and a coffin nail would have to do. As he leaned against the bumper of his Vic and smoked, he saw Emmett Milbarge emerge from the Buy More and cross to his car. The new store manager looked around the parking lot and, spotting Casey, walked towards him.

"Drinking on mall property is against regulations Casey," he called out, round glasses gleaming in the lamplight.

Casey curled back his lip and growled menacingly, giving him the finger. When the puffed up little pansy continued towards him, Casey ground the cigarette underneath the heel of his boot and took a threatening step forward. Emmett suddenly changed his mind and scurried back to his car.

_Fruity little fuck_. Casey thought as he watched him drive away and lit another cancer stick. _At least I'll never have to deal with him again._ Whatever the General ordered, there was no way he was going back to the Buy More.

When he returned to Castle, he found Bartowski watching Awesome and Ellie on the security monitor. He could see JEFFSTER! bopping around to something upbeat, but the happy couple was still slow dancing, gazing into each others' eyes and whispering softly to each other.

"We'll keep them safe Chuck."

"We'd better."

"Grab a slice. You need to eat something."

Bartowski shut off the monitor and opened the top box. "Veggies? You?"

"That's for Walker. She forgets to eat when she's stressed."

"Yeah. Thanks for thinking of it."

Casey pulled out two slices of double meat and slid a beer across the table.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do Bartowski? We can pull you out of here, relocate the people closest to you."

"I'm sure."

"You're not ready."

"I'll get ready." His eyes still held the fierce determination Casey had seen earlier.

"Agents train for years, Chuck. You have weeks at most."

"I'll do whatever it takes."

Casey nodded. There was no talking him out of it. "You're not going to like me by the time this is over. We're not just playing spy games here anymore."

"I don't have to like you Casey. I just need you to teach me."

"Ok. We'll start tomorrow."

They finished their pizza in silence. After Bartowski drained the last of his beer, he checked his watch.

"Go ahead." Casey sighed.

Bartowski all but bolted for the staircase.

"Hey Chuck! You forgot the pizza."

"Oh. Thanks."

"And Bartowski?"

"Yeah Casey?"

"For God's sake, grab the girl a blanket. It's going to be colder than hell out there."

"Good idea. Thanks!"

Bartowski threw together a bag and jogged up the stairs. At the landing, he pulled up short and clattered back down. He grabbed a piece of scrap paper and scribbled something on it. "I almost forgot. Will you give this to my father?"

Casey nodded and frowned at the paper. On it was written a complicated URL. He folded it up and put it in his pocket. More geek code probably.

"Oh, and one more thing . . ."

After Bartowski left, Casey settled in to begin working on his report for the General. His concentration was interrupted by a soft beep and he looked up to see Beckman's face on the monitor.

"You heard?"

"Every word."

Casey sighed heavily. "Should I secure the asset for transport to Langley?"

"No Colonel. Bartowski's right. We're going to stand and fight."

"Are you sure that's the best decision General? You know he's not cut out for this."

"Colonel Casey, this is the first time that the RING has made a move out in the open in sixty years, and this new Intersect may very well be the best weapon we have in fighting them. We will _not_ be passing up this opportunity. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, ma'am. Crystal."

***

Casey lowered his binoculars and focused his gaze on the lightning striking the breakers on the horizon. Eyes on the asset on all times didn't mean he had to watch every word. And, really, the two were just talking. Not even talking so much, just eating their pizza and looking out over the water. From a surveillance point of view they looked pretty boring . . . normal even. Not what he thought would happen once the two of them got their long-awaited night off together. But tonight, everything changed.

He stopped himself from rubbing at the goose bumps on his arms. He reminded himself that he didn't envy them their blanket and their body heat. Not a bit. He was better off cold.

An icy gust of wind swept over him, threatening to tear the black ball cap off of his head.

_Ah, to hell with it._ He dropped silently to the leeward side of a large boulder, pulled out his flask and lit a cigarette underneath his jacket. He may as well indulge in some creature comforts while he could. Carefully shielding the faint red glow of the cigarette, he watched the lightning and let his mind turn to planning.

They were going to need to expand Castle. They needed new facilities, new cover jobs at the mall, a training program for Bartowski, a large team; covert operatives, security, doctors, scientists, computer experts, specialty instructors. He ran through a list of names in his mind wondering whom he could trust. Until tonight, he would have trusted Miles with his very life. He had raised that boy from an eager-eyed raw-boned recruit straight off the farm in Iowa; had pulled him out of more than one deadly situation during their two years in Afghanistan. First Ty Bennett then Miles – master then student -- if they could betray their own country, who was next? He grimly scratched all the names of his own team off of his list. Who knew whom else Miles had subverted?

With a twisting of his stomach he realized that the only two people he could trust were sitting on the beach below him. And even then, they were loose cannons. Their motives were pure, but their actions -- as they had already proven -- were entirely unpredictable.

His cigarette finished, he moved back into position and raised his binoculars. The two were now deep in conversation. Bartowski was turned away from him but he had a view of Walker's face. He zoomed in to try and get a line on what she was saying.

_Oh God, there she goes. Tellin' him to call her Lisa._

Was it his imagination, or did her eyes flicker to his location before she spoke the next word?

Casey groaned.

He pulled back the view on his binoculars and swept them over the surrounding dunes as the two disappeared in a tangle underneath their blanket.

He took another pull off of his flask. _Damn it's cold out here. Isn't this supposed to be L.A.?_

He thought briefly of Agent Forrest. They had taken a tumble in her hotel room before she left; an unsurprisingly . . . athletic . . . event. As he lay smoking his cigar afterwards, he found himself chuckling softly, thinking back to the conversation between Bartowski and Zamir in the van on the drive back to Castle, both of them still completely FUBAR from the nitrous. He repeated a snippet to Forrest and she shot him a look of scorn and rose perfunctorily to put on her clothes.

"This assignment is making you soft, Casey." She had said, giving him a sweeping look. "In more ways than one." And with a "see ya' around," she had left.

Casey grunted and turned his attention back to the approaching storm.

***

"How long did his nose bleed?"

"Huh?"

On the patio behind Casey's apartment, he and Orion had lapsed into silence after Casey finished his briefing. The question interrupted him from his contemplation of the melting ice cubes in his glass.

"Chuck's nose. You said it was bleeding."

"Oh. It was just a couple of drops. Why? Is that important?"

"It could be. I don't know. He used to get nosebleeds when he was younger, usually when he was stressed about something."

"I've seen Chuck in plenty of stressful situations the past two years and have never noticed so much as a drop. But these flashes, they're different. He used to stand there like a pole-axed ox when he flashed. Now it looks like he's being electrocuted. Plus, all of the information wasn't just there in his head like it usually is. It looked like he was actually reading the files."

Orion's brow pulled together as he thought.

"What is this thing, Steve? What does it do? Can it hurt him?"

"I don't know, John. We had some ideas about motor-neural networking when we were developing the beta version, but we didn't think it was possible. We didn't even get as far as thinking about possible side effects. If Perseus figured that out, who knows what else they did? It could tie into any area of his brain; language, sensory, memory, cognition, sleep. I just don't know. I'm going to need his research, his team."

"We were able to recover most of his files after he was killed, but our analysts haven't been able to make heads or tails of it."

"I'll take a look. Do you know the location of his team?"

"They're in the wind."

Orion let out a long breath and looked through the apartment to his daughter's wedding reception. "Looks like I am too then."

"That's best. We need you as far off the grid as possible. If we don't know where you are, they can't find you through us."

"I gave myself up once to keep my family safe."

"Not this time, Steve. I'm sorry."

"I'll still need to check in with you from time to time, see what you've learned, who you've located. I'll arrange a method of communication."

Casey nodded. One more thing to put on his list.

"John, I need to know that you're going to keep them safe, both of them. That their protection is your highest priority, no matter what may happen."

"It's my job Steve."

"I need more than that."

"Bartowski is a member of my team. I would never betray that. Semper Fidelis."

"Don't give me that unit-corps-God-country shit John. You know I'm no patriot. I need an answer from the man, not the marine. You were ordered to kill my son once. Why didn't you do it?"

Casey studied his scotch. "I . . . I hesitated."

"And?"

He drew himself up straight and met Orion's gaze directly. "And in my twenty years of service, that act of hesitation was possibly the single greatest thing I've ever done for my country."

Orion studied him for a long moment. "And that's as close to the man as I'm going to get."

"Damn straight."

"And Walker? What are her priorities?"

"She loves him."

Orion nodded. That was explanation enough.

"You know that equation always ends in the same solution Steve."

"Maybe. But this time there's a new variable."

"And what's that?"

"Me."

It was a threat.

Their eyes remained locked until a beeping from Orion's computer interrupted them. Orion pulled up his sleeve and looked at the screen.

"He's getting out of the car."

"Where is he?"

Orion tapped a few buttons. "He's on the beach. No cameras there."

Casey allowed himself one look up to his bedroom window. "I don't suppose you could get a satellite on him?"

"No. That attracts too much attention."

_Humph. Like Predator strikes in downtown Los Angeles don't?_ What a mess that had been to clean up.

"Well I guess that's my cue to go." He drained the last of his scotch and snuffed out the butt of his cigar in the ashtray. "I'll keep tabs on him tonight. You go spend some time with Ellie."

"Thank you John."

As Casey was turning to go, he remembered the piece of paper in his pocket.

"Here I almost forgot. Chuck wanted me to give this to you."

Orion frowned at the paper. "What is it?"

"I don't know. I went to the website and it looked like RPG stuff."

Orion typed the URL into the computer.

YOU HAVE BEEN CAPTURED BY THE WICKED WIZARD, the screen read.

Orion thought for a moment, then typed in, UNSHEATH THE TRUTHSLAYER'S SWORD.

Bryce Larkin's face appeared on the screen.

"Chuck, Mr. Bartowski. If one of you is watching this, it means that something has gone terribly wrong . . . "

***

Casey twisted a finger in his ear as thunder boomed directly overhead. _Good Lord, are those two going to stay out here all damned night?_ Lightning was striking the water only a few hundred yards off shore but the couple below him was apparently oblivious. He briefly imagined returning to tell Orion that his son had been struck by lightning and almost shuddered at the thought. He hoped he wouldn't have to go down there and break them up.

He groaned and pulled the collar of his windbreaker higher as the clouds broke open and cold rain streamed out of his hair and down his neck. Exhausted, freezing, and now soaked. Great. Just frickin' awesome. He was glad he had thought to throw a change of clothes into the van.

He checked on Walker and Bartowski again. Of all the imbecilic things, they were grappling in the rain. _Not bad, actually. For a beginner._ Walker wasn't going at him with any real seriousness; this was more foreplay than anything, but he could see her testing him, getting a feel for his skills. He needed a lot of work, and fast, but at least it looked like there was something there to work with.

Lightning struck the ocean just past the first line of breakers.

_Finally_. They exchanged one last kiss then stood to gather up their sodden blankets. Casey moved through the dunes to his van. He had left it parked so that a corner of the front bumper caught the lamplight in the parking lot. As the two packed up the Porsche and left, Walker gave no sign of having seen him, but Bartowski took a glance over his shoulder as they drove away. _Good kid. He's learning fast._

Casey tailed the black 911 as Walker took a winding route down the PCH and into downtown Los Angeles. Despite the downpour and the wind he could feel buffeting his van from side to side, they drove with the top down. If they weren't careful, they were going to get sick. That's just what he needed, to start out Operation Moron 2.0 with his team down with the flu. He was going to enjoy shooting them up with antibiotics tomorrow. And this time he _would_ walk up behind Bartowski with a hypodermic and tell him to drop his pants, just to watch the geek squirm.

As Walker dropped her car with the hotel's valet and the two ran into the lobby laughing and holding hands, he moved the van into position and quickly changed into his dry clothes. With a crack of lightning and a loud bang, a transformer blew and the entire block went dark. Thankfully, the hotel's backup generator kicked in and continued to provide him with a security feed. While he watched Walker and Bartowski climb the stairs to her room, he took out his phone and sent two text messages. He pulled out a folding cot and a blanket, put in an earwig and waited.

Just as he was about to give it up and go upstairs, his phone buzzed. _Lobby in 5, _the screen read.

He grabbed an umbrella and crossed to the hotel. The darkened lobby was busy with couples returning from the bars, flushed from the exhilaration of the storm and whatever club drugs they had consumed. After what seemed an eternity, Sarah Call Me Lisa Walker strode into the room with an armload of wet clothes. She had washed the sand off herself and combed the tangles out of her hair and was wearing a pair of entirely too short flannel boxers under one of Bartowski's Stanford sweatshirts.

"Laundry service for room 832 please?" She wrapped her long legs around each other and twisted herself flirtatiously at the desk clerk who stammered out something with a red face.

"Just as soon as the power comes back on? I really need these in the morning." She slid a bill across the counter with the mass of sodden clothes. "Thanks Chip, I appreciate it." She walked across the lobby towards Casey leaving Chip stuttering in her wake.

Walker grabbed Casey's elbow and pulled him outside under the awning. "What's going on?"

"Beckman heard everything."

Her shoulders sagged. "What are our orders?"

"_Your_ orders are to take the night off. I'm to keep eyes on our boy at all times."

She sighed and nodded, chewing on her lower lip.

"However, _I'm_ going to be in the van taking a nap. Think you can manage to cover both sets of orders tonight?"

She nodded. Face cool, but a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

"You've really got your thumbscrews in him, don't you?"

"Yeah, longest con ever." She laughed lightly.

He handed her a watch. "I'll be on the usual channel if something happens. Keep your wits about you. And you better not accidentally hit that button and wake me up for no good reason. There are some things I _don't_ want to hear." As she fastened the watch on her wrist, he noticed she was wearing Bartowski's charm bracelet.

_Sucker._

Casey's phone rang. He looked at the screen. It showed a picture of two marines in their dress blacks, big smiles on their faces; him with his hair high and tight, hat tucked under one arm, the other around the shoulders of a tall woman, her long brown hair coiled neatly above her collar. She was proudly holding up a silver star in its display box. Wrapped around her leg was a tow-headed boy of about three. The caption under the picture read _L.B._

"Hey, J.B.?"

"Yeah Walker?"

"Thanks."

She rose up on her toes and planted a quick kiss on his cheek before turning and walking back into the hotel, leaving a throng of men and their jealous girlfriends staring after her.

"You're welcome Lisa."

Casey walked across the street and answered his phone. "Talk to me."

"J.B.!" She sounded pissed. "I'm sorry for waking you up, but you need to talk to that boy and now!"

"I wasn't asleep. _Yet_." Casey grumbled. "How is this my fault?"

"What do you mean how is this your fault? He has your name, your face and your goddammed bad attitude. How is it _not_ your fault? And he thinks that just because his daddy's away he can lay around the house all day playing video games and making a mess. You tell him he has one hour to get his quarters cleaned, the trash out and the lawn mowed or you're going to come out here and do . . . whatever it is you're doing these days."

Casey rolled his eyes heavenwards. "Fine, I'll talk to him. But there's something I need to tell you first."

Her voice lost its edge. "What?"

"Oleander."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. He could see her standing in the middle of her living room taking a long look around at her house, her son. Finally she asked, "how fast?"

"Thirty-six hours tops. No goodbyes. Go deep and keep moving. No messages out to Dave this time. I'll contact him when I can."

She gave a long sigh. "Copy that. And J.B.?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"Love you too, sis. Now put the boy on the phone."

Casey climbed into the van and, casting one long look at the cot and blanket, leaned back in the chair and settled in for a long conversation with his nephew.

***

On the beach, a storm was raging. Lightning struck the sand sending up pillars of dust and molten glass, the wind blowing sheets of sand and debris into the dunes giving the site of a serene sunset wedding the feel of a midnight battle zone.

Seemingly unaware of the turmoil around him, a man dressed in black walked through the dunes. Leaning over, he picked up a bent Dixie cup that had lodged in the tall grass. He placed the object in a plastic bag and, moving quietly, disappeared into the night.


	5. Chuck vs Lisa Carmichael

_AN: So I'm back! Thank you everybody for your great reviews. My heart is warmed :)__ Sorry this next installment took so long, but I had a fantastic vacation and some well-deserved (I think) R&R. Coming back to the real world has been a bit of a bummer and the story isn't coming as quickly as it did in the beginning. This chapter actually didn't go quite where I'd originally planned and I'm sorry, shippers, to leave it on such an angsty note. But fear not, you'll see our favorite couple again soon. I might pound out some one-shots first though._

_As always, I don't own Chuck or its characters. If I did, we wouldn't have to wait so #!$#&* long until they came back! I will, however, own lots of warm fuzzies if I get reviews! Good or bad, bring them on._

_Rating now increased to T for, well, you'll see . . ._

_***_

**CHAPTER 5**

_**Chuck vs. Lisa Carmichael**_

_Just three more flights. Come on legs, you can do it._ Chuck desperately focused his attention on making his right leg bend, lift and stretch; followed by his left. _That is not a charley horse I'm feeling, definitely not a charley horse._

"You ok Chuck?" Lisa poked her head over the railing from the flight of stairs above.

"Yeah," he tried not to pant, "just a bit of a cramp. Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

"You sure? Can I give you a hand?"

"No. No. Just go on, I'll be right up." _Please go. This is seriously damaging my machismo here._

Lisa's head disappeared and he heard the sound of her bare feet slapping on the stairs – moving down towards him, rather than up. She flitted around the corner and met him on the landing, stepping close and slipping her hands around his waist. "Oh my God, you're freezing. I'm sorry; I should have put the heat on in the car. Your lips are even turning blue." She leaned in as if planning to warm up his blue lips with her own, but then, taking a quick look at the landing's security camera, she changed her mind and pulled back a step.

"Nah," he said with a glance towards the camera of his own, "it's just the emergency lights. You look pretty blue yourself." In fact, the combination of the severe lighting and a coy gleam gave her eyes a cat-like glow as she smiled up at him. He swallowed, nervously.

"Well then, it's definitely the wrong color." She tilted her head in the general direction of her room. "Let's get upstairs."

"Right behind you."

She grabbed the black duffel bag, which was heavy with the weight of rain-soaked blankets, and turned towards the next flight of stairs.

"I'll get that."

"It's ok Chuck. You just hurry up, I'll go light some candles." Slinging the bag effortlessly over her shoulder, she bounded up the last three flights, taking the steps two and three at a time.

_How does she do that?_ Chuck asked himself for probably the thousandth time since he had met her. He trudged slowly up another flight and paused to rub a knot out of his calf at the next landing.

_Were all of the gymnastics really necessary?_ He threw the question out to the vague presence of the new Intersect in the back of his mind. The Intersect didn't answer. Chuck shrugged and continued up the stairs.

After Lisa had dropped her sodden Porsche with the Maison23 valet, giving him her thousand-watt smile, a wad of dripping bills, and a flirtatious request to have the car's interior cleaned by morning, they heard the boom of an explosion and the hotel's lobby went dark. They both instinctively took cover behind an armchair until they realized it was only a blown transformer. Laughing, Lisa had grabbed his hand and led him towards the stairwell at the end of the hallway. The desk clerk shot Chuck a dirty look as they tracked sand and water along the length of the pristine carpet.

"No elevator for us tonight, I guess," she said.

Chuck had looked despairingly at the myriad flights of stairs twisting out of sight above them. While Casey's painkiller dart had been an enormous help, it hadn't completely eliminated the aching in his muscles, and the effects were starting to wear off. He didn't know if it was the Captain Morgan or the Intersect, but he also had a whopper of a headache settling in. "All eight flights, really? Isn't there a dumbwaiter or something we could use?"

"A dumbwaiter? Really? This isn't a mission, Chuck. And, besides, it's only seven flights."

"Have you ever considered a ground-floor room? What it may lack in solitude, it would more than make up for in convenience. You could even use a window to put in your very own Chuck door."

"Come on, it'll be good for you. I do it all the time."

Well, how could he argue with that? He did need to start training after all.

_Two more flights. Man up Chuckles, you can do this. Just think of who's waiting for you at the top._

As he dragged himself up the last flight, fighting the urge to double over and pant like a dog at the top, his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen to see Casey scowling at him. _Damn_. He opened the text message.

_GB in person 12:00 my place. Be there bright-eyed. And tell Walker to turn on her GD phone. Don't make me come up there._

_Double damn. And triple, for that matter._ The mood of the evening suddenly ruined, Chuck nodded towards a security camera and shuffled down the hall towards Lisa Carmichael's room. It was sweet, really, that she had taken his cover name for the night. He didn't believe for a second that she really thought of herself as Carmichael. He knew she had another last name picked out for herself; and maybe one day when this was all over she'd tell him what it was. But still, he was touched; at the name, and at the way she had really, honestly talked to him tonight. He had never dreamt that she would ever open herself up to him so much. He found himself wishing that the new Intersect had given him editing capabilities so he could record and reread every detail whenever he chose. He had a feeling that this night was the only chance he'd have to get so close to the real Sarah Walker for a long time to come.

She had left her door ajar for him, and a soft glow of candlelight spilled out into the hallway. He took a few deep breaths before walking into the room. At the sound of the door closing softly behind him, she looked up from the blanket she was laying out to dry over the bathtub. "What took you so long? I was starting to get worried." She crossed the room and wound her fingers into his hair, letting her gaze linger on his eyes and then his lips. He saw the same look on her face as when she had turned to him that morning in Barstow. His heart started beating double-time. Before she could kiss him, however, he gathered together every last shred of his willpower and put his index finger over her mouth. _Dammit Casey! What the hell are you doing here? What do you want with her? You're the one who told us to take the night off, for crying out loud._

"Sarah."

Her expression changed to one of concern as she registered his choice of name. "What's wrong?"

"You need to turn on your phone." She gave him a confused look, but when he nodded towards the duffle bag and gently pried her hands off of his neck, she turned away and started rummaging around in search of her phone.

"Damn," She said softly as she turned it on and read Casey's message. She shot Chuck a questioning look, but all he could do was shrug his shoulders.

"I have no idea."

Sarah punched in a reply, then took a glance at herself in the mirror and grimaced. Dirty face, sandy, tangled hair, all her makeup washed away -- whatever she might think about her appearance, he loved it. She perfunctorily stripped off her stained tank top and started the water in the shower. _Breathe, Chuck, breathe. You've seen her in less before._

"Take off your clothes," she directed, handing Chuck a thick white hotel robe.

He couldn't help but laugh. This was the second time she had given him that order and it still wasn't how he had hoped to hear it. "Well, so much for foreplay," he joked, peeling off his own shirt.

"Very funny." Despite her annoyance, he could see a grin ghosting about the edges of her mouth. "I need to take them down for laundry service so you'll have something to wear out of here tomorrow." She opened a dresser drawer to pull out some dry clothes for herself and tossed him a sensor wand. "Sweep the room while I clean up, will ya'?"

"Sure. And Sarah?"

"Yeah?" She gave him the barest of glances. She was wrapped up in her own thoughts, her face a familiar mask.

"Nevermind."

_Agent Walker, back to business as usual._ He blew out a disappointed breath as she pulled the bathroom doors closed behind her. He stripped off his soaked pants and boxer shorts, shrugging into the welcome warmth of the terrycloth robe. It was a little small for him, but still managed to cover everything that needed covering – barely. He really hoped that Casey wasn't watching somewhere.

He picked up the bug detector and turned it over in his hands, realizing that he didn't really know how to use it. As he glanced at the model number on the back, however, the problem was solved for him. With a brief flash, he accessed the wand's user's manual and gained the awe-inspiring ability to toggle an ON/OFF switch. Funny, that one didn't make him feel any different.

Beginning at the door, he swept the wand around the candlelit green and silver room. As usual it was immaculate, aseptic even. Her heavy bag was once again hanging in the nook by the couch telling him that she had been working out some frustrations recently, but besides that, her pet goldfish, and a few framed photos of the two of them, there was no sign that somebody had been living here for the better part of two years. He was reminded again of how ephemeral she was; that at any time she could disappear, leaving no trace of herself behind. In fact, less than twenty-four hours ago she had been ready to do just that. Tonight, he had actually asked it of her. Of course, as much as he wanted to know that she would be safe from what was coming, he never really believed she would go. Even given several tempting offers and a couple of direct orders, she had always chosen to stay with him; and she wasn't one to back down in the face of additional danger.

As Chuck swept the wand over the bed and moved towards the window, it started to buzz. Following the source of the signal to the corner of the room, he found a surveillance camera in the ceiling. It was well concealed behind the crown molding and had been hard-wired into the room's power supply – including the stream from the emergency generator. There was no way it could have been installed recently, or without Sarah's knowledge.

_It's ok. This is my private residence. There is no surveillance. You can talk to me._

_Well, fuckin'A._ She had done it again. Looked him straight in the eye and lied to him – and when he was at his most vulnerable no less. Chuck gritted his teeth and fought back a surge of anger. He knew all too well that Sarah Walker was a liar; that it came to her as naturally as breathing. Hell, it was her job. And she had just spent hours telling him about how her entire life had been one enormous series of lies from beginning to end, with the exception of three people: her pseudo-sister Lizzie, Agent Graham and Bryce Larkin. He had hoped to find himself on that short list of people she was honest with; was actually fairly confident that he had been there since their talk after the Tyler Martin concert. But now, he wasn't so sure. Then again, Lizzie was a grifter and Bryce and Graham were spies. How honest could those relationships really have been?

_No games tonight though, Chuck. No secrets, no lies._

Did he believe that? He thought for a moment. Yeah. He did. He really did. Sarah Walker might be a liar, but Lisa Carmichael was as honest as the poor, messed-up girl knew how to be. Chuck looked up at the hidden security camera again. _Something's not right there._ The night of Awesome's bachelor party, she had looked straight at him, told him there was no surveillance in the room, and then sat down in full view of that camera and handed him physical evidence proving that she had willfully misappropriated government intelligence – the potential ramifications of which Agent Forrest had already made abundantly clear. It didn't make any sense. She had to know about the camera's presence in the room, so she must have also known that she wasn't being recorded.

He adjusted the settings on the bug detector and swept the wand over the camera again. Sure enough the camera was neither recording nor transmitting. _Weird_.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of Sarah turning off the water and getting out of the shower. A few seconds later, he heard a series of metallic clicks. He startled for a moment, the Intersect tensing his body for action, but then he realized that she was probably only breaking down her guns and laying them out to dry. _Always the professional, _he thought. The Intersect loosened its grip. He quickly continued his sweep of the room. As he came to the lower right-hand drawer of the built-in dresser, the wand buzzed again. He opened the drawer to find it full of office supplies and CDs. He rifled around through the stacks of post-it notes and boxes of pens until he found a large jewelry box. Opening it, he saw a collection of earwigs, watches and GLG-80's. He flashed on the bugs – standard CIA issue, all turned off. Nothing interesting there. He also didn't develop superhuman hearing as a result of the flash. Good to know.

He ran a finger over the rows of CDs. In addition to the music he had been introducing her to over the past two years, she had a large collection of classical – heavy on the Russians – and, surprisingly, a good amount of country and bluegrass. He struggled for a moment with the mental image of Sarah Walker listening to country music, and then remembered her violin. Spotting her iPod, he put in an earbud and turned it on. Sure enough, it was paused in the middle of a complicated fiddle riff. He noted the band – Alison Krause and Union Station – and made a mental note to look them up. Based on her CD collection, they were a favorite. The title of the album playing on the iPod particularly caught his eye. _Lonely Runs Both Ways. Ain't that the truth?_

"Finding anything interesting?"

_Holy Crap!_ He certainly could have used that superhuman hearing right then. Lost in his own thoughts, Sarah had taken him completely by surprise. He startled at the sound of her voice and tumbled backwards onto the carpet. _Smooth Bartowski, real smooth._ _If Roan could only see me now. At least she didn't catch me in her underwear drawer. _ He sheepishly pulled the earbud from his ear and adjusted his robe, noting the traces of amusement on her face. She had changed into a tiny pair of flannel boxer shorts and a deep blue camisole that left very little to the imagination. The color of the top made her eyes gleam like sapphires in the candlelight as she worked a comb through her tangled hair. His mother's charm bracelet jingled lightly each time her arm moved. This was the first time he had seen her wear it since the night he gave it to her.

"I was . . . er . . . I wasn't . . . I found . . . " he fumbled as he pulled himself upright.

"Are these yours?" he finally managed to get out as he held up the box holding the GLG-80's_. _He couldn't help but groan at the pain in his legs as he started to his feet.

"Oh. Yeah." She took the box from him, opened it to check the contents, then set it aside to give him a hand up, which he gratefully took. His headache spiked sharply and he felt a wave of dizziness as he stood. He had to put a hand on the counter to steady himself.

"You sure you're ok?"

"Yeah. Just sore." He tried to keep his face from showing any of the pain he was feeling but couldn't tell if he was succeeding or not.

She looked him up and down appraisingly, then walked into the bathroom and went back to work on her hair, drawing in her breath sharply as she hit a particularly stubborn tangle. "What do you think Casey wants?" she asked, hacking at the snarl with her comb. "It can't be that important or else he would have just busted in here."

"I honestly don't know. All he said was that we're meeting with Beckman tomorrow and you need to turn on your phone. Here, let me help you with that." He took the comb from her before she could tear a sizeable chunk of hair out by the roots. She was trying not to show it, but Casey's interruption had left her highly agitated. Spotting a bottle of leave-in conditioner on the vanity, he turned her around and worked it into the ends of her hair. He felt her slowly relax under his touch.

"You don't think he's already received orders from Beckman do you?" she asked.

"No. I don't think so. He said he wasn't going to make his report until morning."

"But why else would she be flying out here in person? He couldn't know that unless he's already spoken with her."

"Yeah. Good point." Their eyes met in the mirror and a knot formed in the hollow of his throat at the look of abjection he found there. Unable to hold that gaze, he turned his attention back to her tangles. He patiently worked through the last one and combed her hair back from her face in long, sweeping strokes, relishing the feel of the damp silk sliding through his fingers.

"Mmmm. You're good at that."

"Thanks. I took over Ellie's hair braiding duty after Mom left so I've had a bit of practice." Jill had also loved for him to play with her hair, but he decided to leave that particular detail out of the conversation. He put down the comb and rested his hands on her shoulders. "There you go, Lisa. All set."

She spun around quickly, that Barstow look on her face again. She grabbed him by the waist and pulled him close, fingernails digging into the terrycloth robe, eyes burning into his, "say that again, Chuck."

"All set?"

A flicker of a smile. "No," she whispered, "my name. Say my name."

"Lisa."

He kissed her forehead.

"Lisa."

Her neck.

"Lisa."

He breathed it into her ear.

Her breath caught in a gasp and she shuddered in his grip, biting softly on his shoulder and pulling him in even closer. _Oh God, keep it under control. She's going to feel that._

She felt it. In one fluid motion, she jumped up onto the vanity, wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him in, to the point where only a thin layer of flannel separated him from the moment he had been fantasizing about for so long. One hand reached inside his robe to clutch at his chest, the other curled into a tight fist in his hair as she pulled him down into a fervent kiss.

_Oh God. OhGodohGodohGod_. _Breathe, Bartowski, breathe . . . This can't happen right now. . . but. . . oh. . . damn. . . that thing she's doing with her tongue . . . _The rational part of his mind stammered in protest, but the rest of him had ceased to think at all. He returned her kiss with equal urgency, pulling up her camisole and raking the fingernails of one hand down her back while fumbling at the clasp of her bra with the other. When she moaned into his mouth and reached for the tie on his robe, he gathered her into his arms and turned towards the bed.

Suddenly, the pain in his head flared again and his knees started to buckle. He let go of her in order to clap a hand to the side of his head. He was suddenly in possession of the Academy's training manual on Infiltration and Inducement of Enemy Personnel. He quickly tried to put a stop to the stream of ideas the Intersect was sending him and was relieved to find that he could. _Wow. Those guys are really kinky._

She was instantly on her feet, supporting him. _Are you ok, Chuck?_ She was too breathless to ask, but he could see the question on her face, plain as day.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, wobbling his way over to the bed and sitting down heavily; his mind racing while looking for an excuse that wouldn't concern her. As quickly as the pain had spiked, it receded, leaving only a dull ache in its place.

"I just remembered. Casey."

After assuring herself that he wasn't about to keel over, she sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving a few careful inches of space between them.

"Well, I'm sure Casey would be flattered to know that you were thinking about him while you had your hands up my shirt."

They both laughed, easing the tension of the moment.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," she said after they both caught their breath. "That was unfair of me. And really, really selfish. But I just . . . I just wanted to be Lisa for a little while longer. You know? Because, when I come back . . . "

"You may have to be Sarah again."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Or somebody else altogether. It just depends."

"I get that." _She may be coming back with orders to tranq me and put me in a bunker. Who knows?_ He pushed the thought away. "And after two years of devoting your life to protecting me while getting nothing in return but a nice benefits package and my constant nagging about our relationship, you're entitled to a little selfishness."

"Thanks." She reached up absently to tousle his hair. "You need a shower. You're still all covered in sand."

"Good idea." _A cold shower. A very, very _cold_ shower._ He moved to stand up.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him back down, turning so she could meet his eyes directly.

"Lisa, I'm sorry, but you have to go."

"I know. I know. But Chuck, whoever I come back into this room as, and whatever may happen between us after this, I just want you to know that . . . that I . . . "

She swallowed nervously. _Oh my God. Is she really going to say it?_

"I . . . " her tongue moved to the back of her front teeth, but she choked on the word. With a long, shuddering intake of breath, her lower lip started to tremble and her composure crumpled. Two tears slipped down her face, glowing with soft rainbows in the candlelight.

"I'm just so scared." She hid her face in her hands and leaned into his chest, fighting the sobs that threatened to overtake her.

"Shhh. It's ok. We're all scared." He drew her onto his lap and stroked her hair as she struggled to pull herself under control. As many times as he had envisioned a real night between them, she was still managing to surprise him. Even his overactive imagination had never conceived of the Bryce stories or the open accounting of her life before the CIA. And he had never, ever expected to hear the words "I'm scared" coming out of Sarah Walker's mouth. In many ways, the admission meant more to him than an "I love you."

If this had been Ellie, coming home wrung-out and dejected after losing a patient, he would simply have held her for as long as it took for her to cry it out. Chuck would have been more than content to sit through the rest of the night with Lisa Carmichael tucked on his lap, running his fingers through her hair and whispering small assurances in her ear until she fell asleep in his arms. But they didn't have that luxury. He pushed his wistful thoughts of normalcy away. This was his new normalcy, and it wouldn't be changing for a long time to come. She had a job to do.

"I love you too."

Her breathing stopped. He waited until it started again and put a finger underneath her chin, nudging her head up until she was forced to meet his eyes.

"I love you. You don't have to say it back, knowing you tried is enough for me right now. But just in case you haven't figured it out yet, I want you to know unequivocally how I feel about you. I love you with everything that I am, everything that I ever was or hope to be. There's not a night that I don't fall asleep thinking about you, that I don't dream about you. And I love _all_ of you, every person you've been, every person that you'll become. I've seen your file, I know the things that you've done and what you're capable of. And that doesn't scare me anymore because I love that part of you too. And if you leave this room and come back a cold and detached Sarah Walker, that won't change. If you come back with orders to tranquilize me and drag me to a bunker, it still won't change."

Her brow wrinkled at this and her eyes started to tear up again. _So __that's_ _what she's afraid of. _ "Oh don't get me wrong, I'd be furious, and I _will_ fight like hell, but it won't make me stop loving you. No matter what happens, no matter who you have to be, I know that you, this girl here with me right now, is at the core of who you are, and I can wait for her to come back, no matter how long that takes. You get me?"

She sniffed and ran her palms down her cheeks to wipe away her tears. "I get you."

He cupped her face and laid a tender, yet chaste, kiss on her forehead. "Look. It's been a very, _very_ long day, and I don't know about you, but I didn't sleep worth a damn last night. I feel like I'm stretched as thin as week-old chewing gum."

"God, tell me about it," she said, gathering her composure and swinging her legs off of his lap. "I thought that if I had to listen to Ellie's little doctorettes talking shop or mooning over cute attendings for one more minute, my skin was going to explode. It was like I was trapped at a Grey's Anatomy slumber party. It was everything I could do to keep up my cover and not come running back to your place." She stood up and walked over to the heavy bag, delivering a fierce eight-punch combination followed up by a vicious jab with her elbow.

"I was there, hoping you would." He looked at her and tried to imagine where they would be if the last eight hours hadn't occurred, if his father had never interrupted their dance in the courtyard. He allowed himself a brief moment to indulge in the "what ifs" and then pushed them aside. They had to deal with the "what nows" first.

"But it's late, and we're tired and Casey's probably pacing the lobby scaring people. And like you said on the beach, sitting and speculating isn't going to do us any good. So the sooner you go find out what he wants, the sooner we can get some sleep. Even if I am sleeping the couch."

She leaned against the bag and nodded. "Chuck. I'm glad you did what you did tonight. It was the right thing to do, and it may just save all of our lives. But can you blame me for wishing things had turned out differently?"

He looked at her as she toyed absently with the charms on her bracelet and his heart threatened to crack. "Not at all. I feel the same way . . . Sarah."

"Sarah. Right." She squared her shoulders and walked into the bathroom to examine herself in the mirror. She quickly dispensed a few eyedrops into each eye and ran the comb through her hair again. She pulled a small backup pistol out of a drawer (_Walther PPK, .32 caliber, semi-automatic, double-action trigger, single-stack magazine. Can be field stripped and reassembled in-- ah, just shut up already.) _and tucked it into the waistband of her shorts. From another drawer appeared a few folded bills, which disappeared into her bra. _What does she need money for? Maybe to get a cab the hell out of here? No. I think she'd at least put on some pants if she were going to do that._

"Did you just flash?"

"Yeah, on your gun. Sorry." He rubbed at the aching in his temple.

She frowned. "No need to apologize. So do you feel like a sharpshooter now?"

"Even having no idea what being a sharpshooter feels like, I can pretty confidently say no."

"Strange."

"Yeah. I know."

She took one of his old Stanford sweatshirts out of the closet and pulled it over her head, effectively concealing the .32. "Will you put those bugs in the back of the closet for me? I shouldn't have left them out in the room like that."

"Sure. I still need to sweep the bathroom too. Is there any chance you have any aspirin or morphine or something? My head is getting fed up with the flashing."

"Yeah. There's a medical kit in the bathroom cabinet. Look for a red bottle of pills marked GA-ninety-something. Take two."

"What? You guys have pills?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Nothing. I just need to remember to have a little chat with Casey later."

"He shot you with a dart, didn't he?" He was relieved to see a trace of a smile on her face.

"Well, yeah," Chuck admitted.

"He would. That's all right though. You'd need to consume a truckload of this stuff before you could overdose on it. Enjoy it while you can, because you're not allowed any while you're training."

"Fun."

"Yeah. Fun." There was more than a dash of bitterness in her tone. She kept her eyes downcast as she moved around the room gathering up their wet clothes. With the pile of laundry in hand she was ready to go, but she made no move to leave. She just stood in the middle of the room looking at him sadly.

He stood up and put an arm around her shoulders, steering her towards the door. "Come on, it's just Casey. You said yourself it can't be that important. Just think Sugar Bear."

"Sugar Bear. Right."

"You want me to go down with you?"

"You're hardly dressed for it."

"Oh yeah, right."

"And do you really want to climb all those stairs again?"

He groaned and laughed. "Good God, no!"

"Well then, I guess it's just me."

"Don't worry. It'll be fine."

She nodded. "But, Chuck, in case it isn't, I . . ." she trailed off, biting her lip. She still couldn't say it.

"It's ok. We'll be fine," he repeated, wondering if he believed himself.

She rose up on her toes to give him one more kiss. _Oh, God, her mouth is so soft . . ._ he groaned softly and pushed her gently away, trying not to think about all of the other things she could be doing with that mouth. She looked up at him and opened and closed her mouth a few times as if she wanted to say something else, but then apparently changed her mind. She let out a long sigh and ran her hand down the side of his face before quietly slipping out the door and closing it behind her.

Chuck leaned his head against the door and heard a soft thud from the other side as she did the same. For the first time, he allowed himself to really think about what he would do if she and/or Casey came back upstairs with orders to take him underground. He stayed there with his forehead resting on the green-painted wood until he heard her take a few deep breaths and straighten up. She whispered something into the door, but he couldn't make out the words. He closed his eyes and listened until he heard her determined stride moving off down the hallway and the sound of the stairwell door opening and closing.

"Please don't make me hurt you," he whispered, and then went in search of the medical kit in the bathroom.


End file.
